A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 


BY 


CATHARINE  S.  HOLMES. 


CINCINNATI:  CRANSTON  &  CURTS. 

NEW  YORK :  HUNT  &  EATON. 

1894. 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  CRANSTON  &  CURTS, 

1894. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE. 

REBELLIOUS  EYES, 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
SUSY  FIRST, 27 

CHAPTER  III. 
"  THE  BOY  THAT  USED  TO  LIVE  HERE," 42 

CHAPTER  IV. 
AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA 64 

CHAPTER  V. 
CANDY  AND  QUARRELING, 87 

CHAPTER  VI. 
PROFESSOR  WEST'S  ENTERTAINMENT, 101 

CHAPTER  VII. 

LITTLE  COUSINS, 119 


2229182 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE. 

CHOCOLATE  CREAMS 145 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  TRAVELING  COMPANION 166 

CHAPTER  X. 

MR.  PETERSON, 181 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH, 204 

CHAPTER  XII. 
HELEN  AT  HOME, ....  223 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM, 242 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING, 269 

CHAPTER  XV. 
MARGARET  COMES, 280 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT,  . 295 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  CURRANT-BUSHES, 320 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
GILBRRTINA'S  NOSE, 338 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

PAGE. 

THE  TRIADS  OF  AN  EDITOR, 357 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL 377 

CHAPTER  XX  r. 

THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM, 2 


A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 


Chapter*  J. 

REBELLIOUS    EYES. 

11  T^HERE  won't   be  anything  at  all  to  do  to- 

1  morrow,"  said  Gertrude  Winner,  as  she 
kissed  her  mother  good-night;  "so  do  you  care 
if  I  don't  get  up  to  breakfast?" 

The  poor  little  thing  looked  so  disconsolate 
while  she  stood  shading  her  drooping  eyes  from 
the  brilliant  gaslight,  that  Mrs.  Winner  caught 
her  hand  and  pressed  it  sympathetically.  Ger- 
tie's dreary  face  brightened. 

"You  may  sleep  as  long  to-morrow  morning 
as  you  possibly  can,"  said  her  mother.  "  It  will 
be  the  very  best  thing  for  you.  Eyes  that  give 
so  much  trouble  must  be  punished  by  being  shut 
into  the  dark." 

Gertrude   Winner  was    ten    years  old,   and 

7 


8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

she  liked  to  go  to  school.  Not  that  she  was  an 
exceptionally  fine  scholar.  It  was  very  seldom 
that  a  word  passed  her  in  the  spelling-class,  and 
she  was  the  only  little  girl  in  the  seminary  who 
thought  English  grammar  neither  dull  nor  dif- 
ficult; but  when  the  hour  for  history  arrived, 
she  cowered  behind  her  desk  and  tried  to  look 
small,  in  hope  that  the  dreaded  questions 
might  be  addressed  to  some  one  else ;  and  in 
the  arithmetic  class  her  courage  failed  her  alto- 
gether. If  her  teacher  had  permitted  it,  Gertie 
would  have  allowed  every  example  to  be  solved 
by  her  companions,  and  a  cipher  to  be  written 
after  her  name.  But  Miss  Pomeroy  soon  learned 
to  understand  the  nervous  dread  which  froze 
this  lively  little  creature  into  silence  at  the  mere 
sight  of  a  blackboard,  and  would  answer  objec- 
tions with  a  smiling  but  determined,  "  Try  it." 
Very  often  a  single  attempt  was  enough  to  prove, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  all  beholders,  that  Gertie 
had  underrated  her  own  ability.  It  was  a  sur- 
prise to  herself  to  see  the  result  following  so 
easily  and  quickly ;  and  courage  revived,  to  wither 
again  under  a  more  difficult  lesson. 

Notwithstanding  the  shadow  which  this 
hated  arithmetic  threw  over  her  daily  life,  Ger- 
tie liked  to  go  to  school,  and  had  even  been 
heard  to  say  that  she  was  sorry  when  they  had 
a  holiday.  Unfortunately,  holidays  came  to  her 


REBELLIOUS  EYES.  9 

much  more  frequently  than  they  came  to  the 
average  little  girl  or  boy.  The  cause  of  this 
was  a  pair  of  soft  blue  eyes,  which  looked  straight 
into  the  eyes  of  friend  or  stranger  as  if  they  were 
quite  innocent  of  such  wicked  deeds  as  keeping 
a  little  girl  out  of  school  when  she  was  sensi- 
ble enough  to  wish  to  learn.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
they  did  not  believe  that  the  fault  was  theirs. 
Gertie  was  a  cruel  task-mistress,  who  was  sel- 
dom willing  to  let  them  rest.  At  morning,  at 
noon,  and  at  twilight,  they  must  be  ready  to  fix 
themselves  upon  a  printed  page,  and  read  over 
and  over  again  tales  of  fairies,  knights,  an.d  mon- 
archs,  which  the  active  young  brain  they  were 
serving  already  knew  well.  It  may  be  that  these 
gentle,  short-sighted  eyes  were  not  so  very  much 
to  blame  after  all.  Why  should  they  be  com- 
pelled to  work  harder  than  the  hands  and  feet  of 
their  mistress  ? 

Whether  the  fault  was  hers  or  theirs,  made 
no  difference  in  the  consequence.  Every  once 
in  a  while  all  books  were  clos.ed  to  Gertie,  and 
needle-work  was  likewise  forbidden.  She  had 
neither  brother  nor  sister,  and  her  little  friends 
spent  so  many  of  their  waking  hours  in  school 
that  they  could  not  spare  a  great  deal  of  time 
for  her  consolation.  Just  before  our  story  opens, 
however,  her  solitude  had  been  interrupted  by  a 
brief  visit  from  an  uncle,  an  aunt,  and  lour 


io  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

cousins — enough,  you  may  be  sure,  to  change  a 
quiet  house  into  a  merry  one.  Gertie  enjoyed 
that  visit  with  all  her  heart,  and  was  especially 
delighted  with  her  Cousin  Hilda,  whom  she 
had  not  seen  for  so  long  that  they  had  abso- 
lutely forgotten  each  other;  but  her  enjoyment 
lasted  only  two  days,  while  Mr.  Craig  was  get- 
ting ready  the  new  home  which  they  had  come 
from  the  West  to  inhabit.  It  was  in  a  village 
called  Hawthorn,  a  suburb  of  the  city  where 
Gertie  lived,  and  a  very  pretty  place. 

When  they  left,  the  house  became  a  great 
deal  lonelier  than  it  would  have  been  if  they 
had  never  entered  it.  Gertie  was  almost  mis- 
erable enough  to  cry;  but  I  am  glad  to  be  able 
to  state,  with  perfect  certainty,  that  she  shed 
not  so  much  as  one  tear.  She  was  a  brave  lit- 
tle girl,  whose  cheerfulness  was  seldom  over- 
come for  longer  than  a  very  few  minutes ;  be- 
sides, the  crying  would  make  her  eyes  ache,  and 
increase  her  troubles. 

"I  shall  not  get  up  to-morrow  until  ten 
o'clock,  anyway,"  said  Gertie,  as  she  jumped 
into  bed.  "May  be  not  till  twelve.  Then  I'll 
dress  as  slowly  as  I  can,  and  then  it  will  be 
'most  lunch-time.  And  after  lunch  it  will  soon 
be  two  o'clock,  and  that  will  be  only  four  hours 
till  dinner  time.  Yes,  I  guess  I  can  get  through 
to-morrow,  and  there 's  another  day  off." 


REBELLIOUS  EYES.  n 

With  these  comforting  reflections,  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  was  wrapped  in  a  dreamless  sleep. 
A  certain  mischievous  little  sunbeam  must  have 
heard  her  planning ;  although,  if  it  were  hiding 
in  her  room,  I  can  not  imagine  how  it  concealed 
itself.  For  just  as  soon  as  it  was  allowed  to  ap- 
pear in  the  morning  air,  it  made  a  straight  line 
for  Gertie's  window,  burst  through  crimson 
shade  and  filmy  curtain,  and  leaped  upon  the 
helpless  white  lids  which  were  trying  to  protect 
the  slumbering  eyes  beneath. 

Gertie  stirred,  lifted  one  arm,  and  struck  it 
so  forcibly  against  the  head-board  that  she  was 
wide  awake  in  an  instant. 

"There!     What  time  is  it?" 

A  glance  at  the  small,  round  clock  which  she 
had  placed  on  the  table  near  her  head,  made 
her  sink  back  disappointed.  It  was  only  half 
past  six. 

"  Well,  I  '11  go  to  sleep  again.  O,  that  sun- 
beam won't  let  me !  Now,"  pursued  Gertie, 
opening  her  eyes  and  staring  into  the  looking- 
glass,  "  what  can  I  get  to  hang  over  that  window  ?' ' 

The  mirror  made  no  intelligent  reply.  It 
suggested  a  towel-rack,  a  fan  made  of  peacock's 
feathers,  and  a  picture  of  Undine  talking  to 
Hildebrand.  Disgusted  with  such  stupidity, 
Gertie  turned  her  head  and  tried  to  divert  her 
thoughts. 


12  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"I  wouldn't  count  sheep  jumping  through  a 
hole  in  a  fence  for  anything.  It  is  too  silly.  If 
I  've  got  to  go  to  sleep  in  such  a  babyish  way 
as  that,  I  won't  go  at  all.  I  '11  tell  myself  a 
story  about  myself.  Now !  I'm  sixteen  years 
old,  and  I  'm  a  great  artist.  I  've  just  painted  a 
picture  that  is  going  to  be  great  forever,  and  be 
talked  about  and  copied,  and  a  statue  made  of 
me.  O  yes,  it's  a  picture  of  Hilda.  I  do  think 
she 's  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw.  What 
long,  lovely  curls !  My  eyes  are  open  again." 

They  were  squeezed  together  so  tightly  that 
they  could  not  fail  to  consider  themselves  pun- 
ished, and  Gertie  took  up  her  tale. 

u  Hilda  is  giving  a  party  for  me,  and  I  look 
almost  as  pretty  as  she  does;  for,  you  see,  I've 
changed  a  good  deal  in  six  years,  and  besides 
I  'm  dressed  so  beautifully.  O,  I  have  on  a  blue 
velvet  dress,  with  a  train  long  enough  to  reach 
almost  across  the  room !  Will  you  stay  shut  ?— 
And  a  chain  of  diamonds  in  my  hair." 

This  last  sentence  was  spoken  aloud,  and  in 
most  mournful  accents;  for  Gertie  was  disheart- 
ened by  the  unsuccessful  effort  to  control  her 
perverse  eyes. 

"  Is  there  any  use  to  lie  here  and  wear  out 
my  nerves  making  my  eyes  strong?  O,  my  bad, 
wicked,  precious  eyes,  how  shall  I  ever  be  of 
any  account  if  you  are  n't  willing  to  get  well  ?" 


REBELLIOUS  EYES.  13 

Gertie  let  herself  drop  slowly  over  the  side  of 
the  bed,  and  lie  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  carpet. 
Then  she  dressed  with  lingering  care,  making  it 
a  rule  that  every  time  she  crossed  the  room  she 
would  stop  long  enough  before  the  fire-place  to 
count  twenty-five  ticks  of  the  loud-voiced  little 
clock.  In  this  way  she  managed  to  dispose  of 
considerable  time,  but  nevertheless  she  was  in 
the  dining-room  before  the  family  had  left  the 
breakfast  table. 

"  I  could  n't  sleep,"  announced  Gertie,  with 
a  smile  as  radiant  as  if  she  were  stating  a  rap- 
turous fact.  It  was  not  in  the  power  of  even 
such  grief  as  hers  to  obscure  the  joy  of  having 
hot  biscuits  and  stewed  tomatoes  for  breakfast. 

"  Poor  child ;  what  a  pity !"  exclaimed  her 
mother.  "  You  have  a  dull  day  before  you,  I 
am  afraid.  Miss  Dilworth  is  here,  and  I  shall 
have  to  help  her  sew  if  I  am  to  get  my  work 
done.  She  is  not  certain  that  she  can  give  me 
more  than  two  weeks." 

Gertie's  countenance  gloomed  a  little.  It 
was  never  pleasant  to  have  Miss  Dilworth  in 
the  house,  and  this  time  it  was  more  unpleasant 
than  ever  before,  because  she  wanted  her  mother 
all  to  herself.  But  not  even  for  the  sake  of  that 
dear  companionship  would  she  stay  in  the  sew- 
ing-room. It  was  so  disagreeable  to  have  the 
seamstress  listening  to  everything  she  told  her 


14  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

mother  concerning  her  books  or  her  friends,  and 
then  making  jokes  on  the  subject  for  days  after- 
ward. The  very  worst  thing  about  Miss  Dil- 
worth  was  her  unbridled  wit,  and  the  next  worst 
thing  was  the  interest  she  took  in  the  affairs  of 
other  people. 

So  Gertie  wandered  aimlessly  into  the  parlor. 
It  was  dimly  lighted ;  for  although  the  fair  Oc- 
tober day  was  growing  bright  without,  but  little 
of  its  sunshine  was  admitted.  The  soft  twilight 
of  the  room  suited  her  eyes,  which,  although 
they  seldom  gave  her  pain,  felt  tired  and  heavy. 

"I'll  stay  here,  and  play  I'm  a  fairy,"  she 
decided. 

This  was  the  game  which  the  parlor  carpet 
always  suggested.  It  was  a  beautiful,  summer- 
like  carpet.  The  velvety  gray  of  its  ground 
showed  among  the  manifold  hues  of  the  flowers 
which  lay  wreathed  and  scattered  upon  it  as  if 
it  were  a  soft  and  dreamy  mist.  In  another 
moment  Gertie  was  part  of  a  wonderful  scene, 
which  existed,  to  be  sure,  nowhere  but  in  her 
own  imagination,  but  was  none  the  less  attract- 
ive for  that. 

Deep  among  mountains  with  grass-covered 
slopes  lay  a  valley,  crowded  with  flowers  of 
brighter  and  more  varied  colors  than  the  tropics 
ever  knew.  Alone,  but  never  lonely,  lived  the 
fairy  owner  of  this  delightful  spot;  and  this 


REBELLIOUS  EYES.  15 

fairy  was  known  in  the  every-day  world  by  the 
name  of  Gertrude  Winner.  But  none  of  her 
friends  could  follow  her  to  the  beautiful  home 
where  she  talked  with  butterflies,  and  was  kissed 
by  thornless  roses  and  lilies  white  and  stately. 
There  were  many  little  girls  who  played  with 
Gertie  games  of  her  own  invention,  and  enjoyed 
them  very  much ;  but  they  could  not  understand 
how  she  could  hear  the  song  of  a  streamlet 
which  never  flowed,  or  breathe  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  which  never  grew,  just  because  the  par- 
lor carpet  showed  designs  of  violets  and  roses. 

Through  the  mild,  languid  air  blew  an  icy 
breeze.  Had  an  uninterested  observer  been  pres- 
ent he  would  not  have  felt  it,  nor  remarked  that 
the  blossoms  drooped  and  faded  under  its  touch. 
But  Fairy  Gertrude  saw  this  very  distinctly,  and 
to  her  the  atmosphere  grew  colder,  and  the 
lovely  blue  sky,  which  had  been  smiling  sweetly 
downward,  became  dark  with  threatening  clouds. 

u  It  is  my  enemy,  the  King  of  Winterland," 
she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  and  leaning  past 
the  mantel's  silken  drapery  to  look  into  the  cor- 
ner beyond.  "  He  comes  to  destroy  me  !" 

An  ancient  oil-painting  hung  in  that  corner, 
and  answered  her  agonized  glance  with  a  gaze 
of  stern  reproof.  It  was  not  the  King  of  Win- 
terland, and  did  not  like  to  be  addressed  in  such 
a  frivolous  manner.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a 


1 6  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

soldierly  gentleman,  who  had  been  a  credit  to 
the  family  long  before  this  insignificant  mite  of 
a  Gertrude  came  into  existence. 

But  Gertie  was  not  thinking  of  him. 

"Shall  I  yield  to  his  power?  Never,  never! 
I  will  seek  the  assistance  of  my  loving  friend, 
the  Queen  of  Summerland.  This  quiet  valley 
is  dear  to  her,  and  she  spends  two  months  with 
me  every  year." 

But  just  as  Fairy  Gertrude  was  about  to  rush 
to  her  powerful  ally,  a  serious  obstacle  inter- 
posed. The  troops  of  the  Monarch  of  Winter- 
land,  armed  with  spears  of  frost  and  swords  of 
glittering  ice,  had  already  arrived  in  a  whirl- 
wind, laid  the  valley  waste,  and  passed  by  be- 
fore the  fairy  could  recover  from  the  shock  of 
their  attack.  It  was  a  law  of  this  fairy's  being 
that  she  could  walk  only  upon  flowers;  as  she 
had  always  lived  where  the  ground  was  hidden 
beneath  them,  the  law  had  hitherto  caused  her 
no  inconvenience.  But  what  was  to  be  done 
now?  Not  only  were  all  her  precious  plants 
lying  black  and  lifeless,  but  every  trace  of  them 
was  hidden  by  a  deep  snow,  upon  which  a  hard 
crust  had  formed  with  surprising  rapidity. 

"Alas !"  cried  the  fairy,  swinging  her  arms  in 
frantic  despair.  "  Must  I  perish  here  alone  ?" 

Such  a  shocking  fate  was  altogether  unnec- 
essary, as  she  almost  immediately  recollected. 


REBEL LIOUS  E  YES.  1 7 

Two  roses,  one  dark  crimson  and  one  snow- 
white,  were  fastened  in  the  silver  belt  which 
bound  her  gossamer  robe.  The  blasts  of  winter 
had  been  powerless  to  injure  them. 

"If  I'm  very  careful  I  can  throw  down  first 
one,  and  then  another,  and  make  my  way  to  the 
borders  of  Summerland,"  reflected  Fairy  Ger- 
trude. u  It  will  be  dreadfully  slow  work,  I 
know ;  but  it  is  better  than  freezing  stiff,  and 
never  being  heard  of  again." 

She  began  the  wearisome  journey  without 
delay.  It  was  very  exciting  because  of  its  ex- 
treme danger.  If  her  foot  so  much  as  slipped 
from  the  silky  petals  to  the  surrounding  snow, 
she  was  lost.  The  constant  stooping  to  pick  up 
the  blossoms,  and  the  effort  to  balance  herself 
upon  one  foot,  were  fatiguing  even  to  an  elf. 

"Alas!  I  am  very  weary,"  moaned  the  lonely 
traveler.  "  But  hark !  I  hear  the  singing  of 
birds.  Can  that  be  Summerland  which  looks 
all  green  and  blue  in  the  distance  ?  Courage, 
Fairy  of  the  Flowers,  you  will  soon  be  there !'» 

She  had  reached  the  home  of  Summer.  Her 
chilled  feet  were  sinking  into  its  satin-soft  turf, 
and  her  aching  hands  were  stretched  out  toward 
a  peach  tree  in  full  bloom, — when  the  boughs 
of  the  tree  swung  suddenly  forward  and  changed 
into  a  curtained  doorway,  through  which,  came 
the  figure  of  her  Uncle  Edward  Craig. 


1 8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Why,  here 's  Gertie !"  cried  her  uncle, 
stopping  just  in  time  to  avoid  a  collision  with 
his  startled  little  niece.  "  What  is  going  on  ? 
Are  you  practicing  a  piece  to  speak  in  school?" 

"O  no,  sir,  I  'm  not,"  she  answered,  ashamed 
of  being  discovered  in  the  midst  of  her  play. 
"  I  'm  just  trying  to  amuse  myself  because 
there's  nobody  here,  and  I'm  not  allowed  to 
read,  and  I  don't  know  what  else  to  do." 

"  That  is  a  sad  state  of  affairs,"  returned  Mr. 
Craig,  drawing  her  down  beside  him  on  what 
had  lately  been  a  bank  of  violets,  but  was  now 
a  plush-covered  sofa.  "  With  me  it  is  just  the 
other  way.  I  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  hardly 
know  what  to  do  first." 

"  It 's  horrid  to  move,"  said  Gertie,  sympa- 
thetically. "  O,  Uncle  •  Edward,  you  can't 
think  how  I  miss  Hilda !  I  suppose  she  knows 
a  lot  of  new  girls,  and  has  forgotten  all 
about  me." 

"  O  no,"  laughed  her  uncle.  "  She  has  n't 
made  any  new  acquaintances  yet.  This  is  only 
her  second  day  in  Hawthorn.  But  you  do  n't 
think  Hilda  would  forget  you  so  easily,  do  you  ? 
I  heard  her  wishing,  this  morning,  that  Cousin 
Gertie  would  move  into  the  house  next  door." 

"Is  it  a  nice  house?"  asked  Gertie,  as 
quickly  as  if  she  contemplated  a  removal.  "  Well, 
we  couldn't  do  that,  Uncle  Edward.  I  can't 


REBELLIO  US  E  YES.  1 9 

leave  my  school,  and  I  do  n't  believe  papa  would 
want  to  move  his  store.  But  after  you  get  set- 
tled, please,  please  let  Hilda  come  up  real  often. 
I  suppose  not  every  day — perhaps  that  would 
be  too  much  for  you  to  spare  her — but  every 
other  day,  can  't  she  ?  I  'in  so  lonely." 

"  We  will  try  to  arrange  so  that  you  can  see 
each  other  pretty  often,"  he  answered,  rising  to 
greet  his  sister.  Mrs.  Winner  was  delighted  to 
see  him,  and  anxious  to  know  whether  he  was 
comfortably  settled  in  his  new  home. 

"  We  manage  to  get  along,"  he  replied. 
"  The  carpets  are  down,  and  such  heavy  fur- 
niture as  we  brought  with  us  is  in  place.  But 
we  sold  a  great  deal,  and  I  have  n't  yet  entirely 
supplied  the  lack.  I  came  up  this  morning  to 
send  down  a  parlor  set." 

"Well,  I  'in  glad  you  found  time  to  call,"  said 
Mrs.  Winner.  "If  I  can  do  anything  to  help 
you,  you  have  only  to  let  me  know.  I  wish 
you  had  left  Hilda  here.  Gertie  is  very  lonely, 
although  she  tries  to  be  brave.  She  misses  her 
cousins  very  much." 

"  I  '11  take  Gertie  home  with  me,  if  you  will 
let  her  go." 

"O,  mamma!"  Gertie  burst  out  eagerly,  and 
stood  before  her  with  clasped  hands  and  parted 
lips,  her  eyes  begging  permission  to  accept  her 
uncle's  invitation. 


20  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"What!  when  you  are  so  busy,  and  have  so 
much  to  think  about?  She  would  only  be  in 
the  way,"  objected  the  lady,  smiling  regretfully 
at  her  daughter ;  for  she  would  have  been  glad 
to  give  the  patient  little  creature  any  pleasure 
that  she  might  request. 

"  Gertie  is  never  in  anybody's  way  ;  there  is 
a  great  difference  in  people,"  said  her  uncle 
flatteringly.  "Just  have  her  ready  by  the  time 
I  have  sent  off  the  furniture,  and  we  '11  give 
Hilda  a  delightful  surprise." 

"  Then  you  will  stay  to  luncheon.  We  will 
have  it  early,  if  you  like,  so  that  you  can  take 
the  12.45  train." 

"  Well,"  agreed  Mr.  Craig,  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation, "  I  really  suppose  I  can  not  make  much 
better  time.  You  are  a  long  way  from  the  stores 
in  this  part  of  town,  and  I  have  several  errands 
weighing  on  my  mind.  So  I  had  better  attend 
to  them  without  delay,  and  talk  to  you  after- 
ward, if  there  is  time  to  spare.  Have  your  hat 
and  sacque  on,  Gertrude  mine.  Fortunately 
the  station  is  near." 

It  was  well  that  Gertie  was  impressed  with 
the  necessity  of  making  her  preparations  before 
her  uncle's  return,  for  he  was  occupied  so  long 
that  he  could  scarcely  stay  to  lunch.  Gertie  had 
already  eaten  her  meal,  packed  her  small  hand- 
satchel,  and  put  on  her  wraps ;  and  while  he 


REBELLIO US  E  YES.  2 1 

drank  his  tea  she  stood  beside  him  and  kept  up 
an  excited  chatter. 

"  I  '11  stay  all  night,  mamma,  if  you  're  sure 
you  won't  miss  me  ;  but  I  '11  be  back  to-morrow 
morning  without  fail.  I  must,  you  know.  The 
society  meets  at  two  o'clock." 

"What  society  is  that?"  asked  her  uncle, 
while  her  mother  laughed. 

"The  Society  of  the  Merry  Gift-makers." 
Gertie  plunged  her  hand  into  the  pocket  of  her 
coat,  drew  forth  her  gloves,  and  began  in  great 
haste  to  put  them  on.  "  It  meets  every  Friday 
afternoon  to  make  Christmas-presents." 

"  O,  you  are  beginning  early." 

"  You  would  n't  say  so  if  you  knew  the  loads 
of  presents  I  have  to  make,"  returned  his  niece, 
importantly.  "O  me!  and  I  can't  sew! — the 
doctor  won't  let  me." 

"Poor  child!"  exclaimed  Mr,  Craig,  looking 
pityingly  at  her  weary  eyes. 

"  I  guess  I  can't  make  any  presents  but 
lamp-lighters,"  sighed  Gertie,  a  whimsical  smile 
flashing  over  her  pale  face.  "That's  all  I've 
done  for  the  last  two  weeks.  I  've  made 
sweet-pea  lighters,  and  calla-leaf  lighters,  till  I 
can't  possibly  make  any  more.  I  'm  so  tired  of 
them  that  they  make  me  cross.  And  all  the 
girls  say  they  're  tired  of  seeing  them." 

"They  are  very  pretty  things  nevertheless, 


22 


A  TKOUBLESOM&NAME. 


and  useful,  too,"  said  Mr.  Craig,  rising  and  push- 
ing back  his  chair.  "  Never  mind,  Gertie,  your 
eyes  will  be  all  right  after  awhile,  if  you  don't 
try  to  read  every  new  book  as  fast  as  it  is  pub- 
lished. Say  good-bye  to  your  mother  ;  we  must 
hurry  now." 

Gertie  was  very  willing  to  hurry.  She  had 
been  trying  all  day  to  kill  time,  and  found  it  a 
pleasant  change  to  have  but  few  minutes  at 
her  disposal.  Her  little  feet  skimmed  so  rap- 
idly over  the  brick  pavements  that  she  forgot 
to  count  how  many  of  her  short  steps  equaled 
one  of  her  companion's  long  ones — a  favorite 
amusement  when  she  walked  with  her  father. 

The  train  was  in  sight  when  they  reached 
the  station. 

"  Just  the  right  way  to  do,"  declared  Gertie, 
nestling  contentedly  into  a  seat,  and  knocking 
off  some  peanut-shells  which  a  former  occupant 
had  left  behind.  "  Who  wants  to  get  to  the  sta- 
tion away  ahead  of  time,  and  not  have  anything 
to  read  ?  I  like  to  do  just  as  we  have  done, 
Uncle  Edward,  do  n't  you  ?" 

Uncle  Edward  was  out  of  breath ;  but  as 
soon  as  he  could  speak  he  agreed  with  his  niece 
that  such  rapid  walking  as  theirs,  and  such  a 
wild  rush  for  a  car,  were  among  the  delights  of 
existence.  He  might  not  have  thought  so  had 
his  companion  been  other  than  a  pink-cheeked 


REBELLIOUS  EYES.  23 

child,  with  a  glad  gleam  in  her  eyes,  and  a  head 
that  kept  bobbing  from  side  to  side  out  of  pure 
happiness. 

The  ride  was  a  very  pretty  one;  the  track 
lying,  for  most  of  the  distance,  along  the  river 
bank.  Rocky  cliffs,  their  crevices  filled  with 
fringing  plants,  rose  up  close  at  hand,  and  across 
the  smooth,  steely  plain  of  water  were  low  hills, 
crowded  with  brown  and  golden  trees,  in  the 
branches  of  which  a  faint  blue  mist  lay  sleep- 
ing. Gertie  always  enjoyed'  the  motion  of  the 
cars,  and  to-day  she  would  have  been  pleased  to 
travel  for  hours,  but  for  her  wish  to  see  Cousin 
Hilda.  Even  an  accommodation-train  can  not 
make  a  ride  of  six  miles  a  very  long  one  ;  so  she 
soon  beheld  the  new  brick  building  which  wore 
the  name  of  Hawthorn.  Her  uncle  sprang  from 
the  train,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  they 
started  in  single  file  along  the  narrow  brick 
sidewalk. 

"  I  hope  you  are  n't  easily  tired,"  called  Mr. 
Craig,  as  he  went  before  her.  "It  is  quite  a 
long  way.  Watch  out  for  the  holes,  Gertie ;  the 
sidewalk  needs  mending." 

Gertie  took  her  steps  very  carefully ;  but  the 
little  girl  who  was  coming  toward  them,  appar- 
ently just  out  of  school,  had  her  eyes  upon  the 
new-comers,  and  forgot  the  dangers  in  her  path. 
She  carried  several  books  and  a  slate  with  a 


24  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

twisted  red  border,  under  her  arm,  and  her  empty 
school-bag  was  dragging  as  it  swung  from  her 
hand.  Right  in  her  way  a  broken  board  dropped 
abruptly  to  the  ground,  and  plump  into  the  hole 
which  it  left  went  one  unheeded  little  foot. 
Books  and  slate  flew  in  various  directions,  and 
the  latter  was  broken  into  bits.  The  child  had 
fallen  on  her  face,  both  arms  flung  stiffly  out ; 
but  before  Mr.  Craig  could  hasten  to  her  assist- 
ance she  was  standing  bolt  upright,  looking  at 
him  with  a  very  offended  expression. 

"Are  you  hurt,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  trying 
not  to  smile.  It  was  amusing  to  see  her  look  as 
if  she  had  a  right  to  be  angry  with  him  because 
her  curiosity  had  gotten  her  into  trouble. 

"No,  not  the  slightest,"  answered  the  little 
girl,  very  distinctly,  still  staring  resentfully  into 
his  face. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  she  did  not  desire 
their  sympathy ;  so  they  went  on  together,  and 
left  her  alone. 

"She  wasn't  very  polite,  was  she,  uncle?" 
Gertie  asked  ;  but  Mr.  Craig  laughed  and  re- 
plied : 

"  She  was  mortified,  Gertie.  I  am  sure  she 
did  not  mean  to  be  rude.  If  you  ever  fell  down 
on  the  street,  you  know  how  glad  you  would 
have  been  to  see  everybody  pass  by  without  no- 
ticing your  fall." 


REBELLIO  US  E  YES.  2  5 

"O  yes,  sir,"  rejoined  Gertie,  promptly.  "I 
don't  believe  I  blame  that  little  girl  very  much  ; 
for  if  she  knew  how  funny  she  looked  it  must 
have  made  her  feel  bad.  One  day  I  was  going 
along  Federal  Street.  It  was  the  slipperiest  day 
I  almost  ever  saw  ;  but  I  had  n't  fallen  once,  nor 
I  shouldn't,  either,  if  the  gutter  hadn't  been 
frozen  over.  But  right  there  in  front  of  the  ho- 
tel, down  I  went — flat  on  my  back,  uncle ;  just 
think! — and  my  hat  jumped  off  my  head  and 
lay  down  beside  me.  I  got  up  as  quick  as  I 
could,  and  looked  all  around,  for  I  didn't  think 
I  could  possibly  stand  it  if  anybody  was  looking 
at  me  ;  but  nobody  was  near  enough.  So  I  went 
on,  and  pretty  soon  I  came  back  the  same  way— 
O,  Uncle  Edward  Craig — that  place  was  all  cov- 
ered with  ashes !" 

"Well,  my  dear?" 

"Don't  you  see?  That  meant  that  some- 
body had  been  looking  out  of  the  window,  and 
saw  me  fall,"  declared  Gertie,  catching  her 
breath  with  a  sobbing  sound.  "Hadn't  I  a 
right  to  be  mortified  then?  I'd  have  rather 
fallen  down  over  and  over  again  than  see  that 
place  all  sprinkled  with  ashes  to  make  it  safe." 

"Here's  the  house,  Gertie,"  said  Mr.  Craig, 
trying  to  hide  his  laughing  eyes.  "  Do  n't  you 
think  it  looks  like  a  pretty  comfortable  place?" 

They   had    paused    just    outside    the    gate. 


26  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Within,  a  carriage-drive  led  through  the  midst 
of  a  smooth  lawn  to  a  large,  plainly-built  brick 
mansion.  Neither  house  nor  grounds  had  as 
yet  lost  an  unoccupied  appearance,  but  they  were 
spacious  and  inviting.  At  an  upper  window 
stood  Hilda,  her  face  glowing  with  smiles,  and 
her  hand  waving  a  joyful  welcome. 


Chapter*  H. 

SUSY  FIRST. 

HILDA  was  a  remarkably  pretty  child,  about 
a  year  younger  than  her  cousin  Gertie. 
Her  long  brown  hair  was  soft  and  curling,  and 
her  great  gray  eyes  glimmered  in  a  way  that  made 
one  think  of  moonlight.  She  had  gentle,  timid 
manners,  and  a  face  which  people  generally  felt 
an  impulse  to  kiss.  Such  a  little  girl  is  sure  to 
receive  a  good  deal  of  petting,  and  it  is  well  for 
her  when,  like  Hilda,  she  thinks  it  pleasant  to 
be  petted,  and  is  not  afraid  of  being  thought  a 
baby.  Gertie  loved  her  cousin  as  soon  as  she 
saw  her,  for  she  was  always  attracted  by  the  beau- 
tiful and  unusual ;  but  she  loved  her  still  more 
when  she  discovered  that  Hilda  liked  her  plays 
and  thought  about  things  in  pretty  much  her 
own  fashion.  Beside  Gertie  felt  at  once  that 
Hilda  was  somebody  who  would  lean  upon  her 
and  want  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  in  her  opin- 

27 


28  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

ion  there  was  nothing  so  agreeable  as  taking 
care  of  people. 

The  two  children  met  in  the  hall  with  a  vigor- 
ous embrace.  Immediately  afterward  they  sat 
down  upon  the  stairs,  and  did  not  move  until 
Gertie  had  told  all  about  her  lonely  morning,  and 
playing  fairy  in  the  parlor,  and  being  so  glad  that 
Uncle  Edward  came  in  and  offered  to  bring  her 
to  Hawthorn.  Hilda  said  she  had  been  every 
bit  as  lonely,  but  Gertie'  did  not  see  how  that 
could  be  possible. 

"You've  got  Ernest  to  play  with,  and 
Blanche  and  Archer  to  talk  to.  I  haven't  got 
anybody  to-day,  for  that  bothersome  Miss  Dil- 
worth  won't  let  me  say  a  word.  When  I  ask 
mamma  a  question,  she  answers  it  herself.  O,  it 
makes  me  so  mad!  I  look  this  way  at  her." 
Here  Gertie  knitted  her  brows,  pressed  her  lips 
together  and  drew  up  her  chin,  in  a  way  that 
disfigured  her  face  very  much.  "  But  she  doesn't 
see  it.  O,  and  Hilda,  you  can  help  unpack!  It 
isn't  all  done  yet,  is  it?  Can't  I  help? 

"O  no,  it  isn't  done,"  answered  Hilda;  "but 
it  isn't  so  very  much  fun.  Whenever  we  open 
a  box  to  get  something  out,  we  find  it  isn't  in 
there  after  all;  just  things  that  nobody  ever 
thinks  of  wanting.  But  it  is  fun  not  to  have 
what  you  always  had  to  have  before.  There 
aren't  any  pillows  to  our  bed — Blanche's  and 


SUSY  FIRST.  29 

mine.  I  had  her  sacque  all  rolled  up — but  the 
buttons  hurt  my  ears — and  she  had  her  white 
shawl." 

"All  right;  I'll  use  my  satchel,"  said  Gertie, 
eagerly.  "And  what  do  you  do  for  dishes, 
Hilda?  Do  you  have  wooden  plates?" 

"  No  ;  we  've  got  dishes  enough  to  get  along 
with.  But  yesterday  we  didn't  have.  Papa 
couldn't  find -some  of  our  boxes;  they  wen.t  to 
the  wrong  station,  and  didn't  get  here  till  this 
morning.  One  of  them  hasn't  come  at  all,  and 
Blanche  actually  cried." 

"  Why,  has  it  got  her  dresses  in  ?"  asked 
Gertie,  in  a  delightful  state  of  suspense. 

"  It  is  n't  that.  Her  dresses  are  in  a  trunk. 
But  O,  the  loveliest  little  statue  that  Mrs.  Delp 
gave  her  for  good-bye  !  This  was  the  last  box, 
so  it  was  the  only  place.  Blanche  says  she'll 
cry  her  eyes  out  if  she  does  n't  get  that  statue, 
and  she  does  n't  know  what  Mrs-.  Delp  will 
think.  Do  you  believe  she  '11  be  mad  at  her, 
Gertie,  when  it  isn't  her  fault?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  answered  Gertie,  doubt- 
fully. "  I  hope  she  won't.  What  else  was  in 
the  box,  Hilda?" 

"  My  silver  mug,"  was  the  doleful  reply ; 
"  and  Ernest's  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  and  lots  of 
other  things.  We  think  of  something  else  all 
the  time." 


30  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Craig  reappeared.  He 
had  put  on  an  old  coat — a  very  old  one — and 
carried  a  hammer  in  his  hand,  and  his  appear- 
ance was  so  altered  that  Gertie  hardly  knew 
who  he  was.  Behind  him  came  his  daughter 
Blanche,  who  was  sixteen  years  old,  and  con- 
sidered moving  intolerably  unpleasant.  Her 
burden  consisted  of  two  large,  fragile  vases,  and 
a  load  of  silken  scarfs,  and  her  bro^w  wore  a  de- 
cided frown. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  Blanche !"  cried  the 
eager  cousin,  rushing  at  her  so  unexpectedly 
that  the  vases  narrowly  escaped  destruction. 

"Is  it  you,  Gertie  ?  O,  take  care ;  just 
wait  till  I  put  these  things  down,  and  then  I  '11 
kiss  you !  I  'm  ever  so  glad  to  see  you,  you 
dear  child.  But  you  ought  to  have  waited  until 
we  get  fixed  up.  This  is  the  most  uncomfort- 
able place  I  ever  saw." 

"  O  Blanche,  I  think  it 's  just  too  splendid  ! 
If  you  are  tired,  you  can  sit  still  and  rest,  and 
tell  me  what  to  do.  I  'd  like  it,"  proposed 
Gertie,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"You  wouldn't  like  it  very  long,"  returned 
Blanche,  sinking  into  a  camp-rocker,  which 
stood  in  the  hall,  and  which  already  supported 
two  overcoats  and  a  sofa-cushion.  "  It  drives 
me  wild  to  see  things  in  such  confusion." 

The  two  children  looked  at  her  with  wonder 


SUSY  FIRST.  31 

and  respect.  They  thought  it  a  fine  thing  to  be 
too  old  to  enjoy  the  pleasing  discomforts  of 
moving.  Mere  child  though  she  was,  Hilda 
could  distinctly  remember  a  time  when  Blanche 
trundled  a  hoop  and  ran  races ;  yet  now  she 
would  rather  dress  up  in  a  tea-gown  and  do 
fancy  work  than  live  in  a  house  which  curtain- 
less  windows  flooded  with  sunshine  ;  where  the 
kitchen  chairs  stood  in  the  parlor,  and  the  car- 
riage-rug lay  on  the  porch,  with  a  strange  cat 
slumbering  thereupon. 

"  Papa 's  going  to  open  the  silver-box," 
shouted  a  youthful  voice  beyond  a  closed  door. 
This  door  was  flung  open  the  next  instant,  and 
out  rushed  a  boy  of  eleven  years,  whose  straight 
light  hair  was  so  short  as  to  be  almost  invisible, 
and  whose  dark-blue  eyes  were  bright  with 
mischief. 

"  Hullo,  Gertie !"  cried  her  Cousin  Ernest, 
for  this  was  he.  "  You  have  just  come  in  time. 
Lots  of  fun  going  on.  I  wish  we  'd  never  get 
fixed  up  at  all."  And  away  darted  the  excited 
boy,  calling  over  his  shoulder  :  "  Better  hurry 
up,  Hilda ;  silver-box  is  going  to  be  unpacked." 

"  O  Gertie,  I  Ve  got  to  go !"  exclaimed 
Hilda,  jumping  up  with  a  flushing  face.  Gertie 
accompanied  her  into  the  dining-room,  and 
Blanche  followed  with  a  groan. 

The   dining-room  \yas  the  center  of  action. 


32  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Boxes  of  various  size  were  piled  one  upon  an- 
other against  the  walls.  Mr.  Craig  was  taking 
out  the  screws  which  held  down  the  lid  of  a 
large  wooden  chest ;  his  wife  was  picking  up  a 
strange  assortment  of  articles,  scattered  over 
the  uncarpeted  floor  by  many  different  hands  ; 
and  his  eldest  son,  Archer,  held  a  collar-box  to 
receive  each  screw  as  it  was  drawn  out. 

To  adult  eyes  the  scene  was  not  particularly 
attractive,  but  to  Gertie  it  was  fascination  itself. 
Mrs.  Craig,  whose  tired,  pale  face  looked  as 
sweet  and  pleasant  as  if  work  and  worry  were 
unknown  to  its  owner,  smiled  on  her  as  she  en- 
tered, and  stepped  aside  to  let  the  eager  chil- 
dren crowd  around  the  opening  receptacle  of 
mysterious  treasures.  When  the  lid  swung 
back  on  its  hinges,  free  at  last  from  the  unac- 
countably numerous  screws,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  of  the  silverware  for  which  the  case 
had  been  made.  This  was  hidden  beneath  a 
layer  of  shawls  and  quilts,  upon  which  books, 
magazines,  sheets  of  music,  photograph-frames, 
and  wall-pockets  were  distributed,  with  no  eye 
for  orderly  arrangement,  but  a  most  obvious  de- 
sire to  utilize  all  available  space. 

"  Now  show  us  your  fine  secret,"  demanded 
Ernest,  giving  Hilda  a  contemptuous  nudge  with 
his  elbow,  but  looking  very  curious  despite  his 
pretended  disdain. 


SUSY  FIRST.  33 

"What  secret?"  questioned  his  mother. 

u  Why,  she  's  been  talking  ever  since  we  left 
Chicago  about  a  secret  that  she's  got  with  Rose. 
They  've  been  poking  each  other  and  saying, 
1  Silver-box,'  and  laughing.  It 's  a  wonder  you 
did  n't  hear  them,  mamma.  They  acted  all  the 
time  as  if  they  thought  everybody  was  crazy  to 
know  what  they  meant ;  and  I  do  n't  believe 
it 's  much  of  a  surprise  after  all." 

Mrs.  Craig  looked  at  her  youngest  daughter 
with  an  encouraging  smile.  She  was  all  ready, 
as  Hilda  would  have  seen  if  she  had  met  her 
gaze,  to  be  pleased  with  any  surprise,  however 
trivial,  which  the  child  might  have  prepared  for 
her.  But  Hilda's  appearance  was  not  that  of  a 
little  girl  who  has  arranged  for  her  mother  an 
agreeable  surprise.  She  looked  rather  fright- 
ened. Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  newly- 
opened  box  ;  her  breathing  was  short,  and  a  hot, 
pink  flush  wavered  upon  her  cheeks. 

"  Now  we  're  going  to  find  out,  Miss,"  said 
Ernest,  pushing  past  his  sister.  Catching  the 
corner  of  an  old  cashmere  shawl,  he  dragged  it 
out  of  the  chest.  A  crashing  fall  was  the  result, 
and  the  color  left  Ernest's  face.  It  was  evident 
that  his  hasty  action  had  wrought  mischief, 
although  the  nature  of  the  damage  was  con- 
cealed by  the  soft  folds  of  the  wrap. 

"  Stand  back,  Ernest,"  said  his  father. 
3 


34  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

The  broken  article,  which  Blanche  hastened 
to  discover,  was  a  little  china  vase,  a  pretty  but 
not  costly  ornament,  valued  because  it  had 
stood  for  years  upon  the  sitting-room  mantel, 
and  was  of  convenient  size  and  shape  for  hold- 
ing a  few  loose  flowers. 

The  accident  sobered  Ernest  for  a  little 
while.  No  one  spoke  a  word  of  blame,  but  the 
face  of  his  elder  sister  expressed  her  opinion 
that  such  conduct  ought  not  to  be  tolerated. 
Mrs.  Craig,  after  she  had  summoned  Rose  to 
gather  up  the  sharp-edged  fragments,  said  pleas- 
antly : 

"We  have  been  so  very  fortunate  with  our 
moving  that  we  can  bear  a  little  loss  like  this. 
All  the  best  china  is  out,  and  not  one  piece 
broken.  It  is  more  than  I  dared  to  hope." 

Ernest  went  and  stood  beside  his  mother, 
and  Mr.  Craig  resumed  his  unpacking. 

"What  is  this?"  he  exclaimed,  pulling  out  of 
a  well-filled  corner  a  most  doleful  figure. 

It  was  a  lank  and  boneless  body,  dressed  in  a 
red  cashmere  wrapper.  A  lace-trimmed  cap  lay 
limply  about  a  battered  face,  upon  which  the 
white  enamel  had  cracked  and  afforded  glimpses 
of  dark  rubber  beneath.  Mr.  Craig  held  it  aloft — 
the  sorrowful  form  drooping  helplessly  over  his 
hand — and  looked  at  it  in  g"reat  amazement. 


FIRST.  35 

"  I  am  sure  I  put  no  such  thing  in,"  he  said, 
in  tones  of  profound  conviction. 

"Upon  -my  word  it  is  Susy  First!"  cried 
Blanche,  and  became  speechless  with  laughter. 

Hilda  had  stolen  to  her  father's  side,  and 
now  laid  a  timid  hand  upon  the  object  of  so 
much  wondering  regard. 

"  Please,  papa,"  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 
Her  look  made  him  yield  it  to  her  at  once,  and 
without  farther  remark.  But  Ernest  was  not  so 
merciful. 

"  Ho,  that's  your  secret !"  he  asserted  loudly. 
"  Great  secret,  now  is  n't  it?" 

"  I  told  her  to  throw  that  doll  away,  mamma," 
said  Blanche,  recovering  her  voice.  "  You  said 
we  must  get  rid  of  all  old  rubbish,  and  I  do  n't 
know  anything  more  rubbishy  than  Susy  First. 
You  deceitful  little  thing,  how  did  you  manage 
to  stick  it  in  there  ?" 

But  Hilda  could  not  answer.  At  first  she 
had  only  been  afraid  that  everybody  would  laugh 
at  her  persistent  fondness  for  this  old,  wornout 
favorite ;  now  all  at  once  she  felt  that  she  had 
really  done  wrong.  Was  it  possible  that  in  her 
anxiety  to  save  her  doll  she  had  deceived  and 
disobeyed  her  mother  ?  Mrs.  Craig  was  watch- 
ing closely ;  when  the  curly  head  was  slowly 
lifted,  she  knew  that  Hilda's  first  glance  would 


36  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

be  toward  her,  and  was  ready  to  meet  it  with  a 
gentle,  inviting  look.  She  stretched  out  her 
hand,  and  the  mother  and  daughter  silently  left 
the  room  together. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Hilda,  then,  in  a  breaking 
voice,  "  if  I  oughtn't,  I  did  n't  know  it." 

"  Mamma  is  sure  of  that,  dear.  But  tell  me 
how  it  all  happened." 

So  Hilda  told  her  mother  that  after  Blanche 
had  pronounced  sentence  against  poor  Susy  First, 
and  had  argued  that  if  all  the  dolls  were  kept 
after  they  became  aged  and  disfigured,  they 
would  soon  crowd  the  family  out  of  doors. 
Rose  found  her  in  the  pantry,  crying  over  her 
dilapidated  darling.  Rose  had  been  with  Mrs. 
Craig,  first  as  nurse-maid  and  then  as  house- 
keeper, ever  since  Blanche  was  an  infant.  Each 
of  the  children  had,  in  turn,  been  to  her  the 
dearest  of  living  creatures,  and  Hilda,  as  the 
youngest,  was  still  her  pet.  She  pitied  the  child, 
and  suggested  that  the  doll  be  slipped  slyly 
into  one  of  the  boxes  just  before  the  lid  was 
nailed  on. 

"She  said  you  wouldn't  care  if  it  got  fiere 
without  any  trouble  to  anybody,"  Hilda  ended, 
beseechingly. 

"But,  darling,"  Mrs.  Craig  said,  gravely,  "I 
should  have  been  willing  to  take  some  trouble 
to  keep  my  little  girl  from  grieving.  You  must 


SUSY  FIRST.  37 

not  think  you  have  done  a  wicked  thing,  nor 
that  I  am  scolding  you,  Hilda ;  but  I  want  you 
to  see  that  you  haven't  been  just  as  kind  to  me 
as  you  ought.  If  you  had  told  me  that  you 
loved  Susy  First  too  much  to  part  with  her, 
don't  you  think  I  would  have  been  willing  that 
you  should  bring  her  with  you?" 

Hilda  nodded  tearfully. 

"  I  know  you  do,"  declared  her  mother,  with 
a  kiss.  "I  know  you  would  not  have  consented 
that  she  should  be  put  in  the  box  if  you  had 
not  thought  so.  But  you  would  have  felt  better 
all  the  time,  and  not  have  been  so  worried  to- 
day, if  you  had  told  me  about  it  at  first,  and  let 
me  find  a  place  for  her.  Don't  you  believe 
that?" 

4(Yes,  mamma,  I  do." 

"Then  we  understand  each  other,"  said  Mrs. 
Craig,  brightly.  "You  must  not  grieve  any 
more.  But,  Hilda  dear,  one  thing  I  should  like 
you  to  remember.  You  did  not  see  all  this  until 
I  explained  it  to  you,  and  there  are  a  good  many 
things  which  a  mother  must  explain  to  her  little 
daughter.  She  will  not  be  able  to  do  this  if  the 
little  daughter  keeps  all  her  puzzles  and  griefs 
to  herself.  That  is  why  I  wish  you  to  tell  them 
to  me.  Now  I  must  go  back  to  papa,  and  I  will 
send  Gertie  out  to  you.  Do  n't  you  want  to 
show  her  the  summer-house^" 


3^  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Gertie  came  out  rather  nervously. 

"  O,  Hilda,"  said  she,  beginning  to  talk  very 
fast,  "I  didn't  tell  you  about  the  little  girl  that 
we  met  when  we  were  coming  to  your  house  to- 
day. Uncle  Edward  had  just  said  to  me  that  I 
must  be  careful,  because  the  sidewalk  needed 
to  be  mended,  when  the  little  girl  came  along 
and  fell  down  in  front  of  us.  She  broke  her 
slate,  and  she  was  just  as  mad !  Uncle  Edward 
said  she  was  mortified." 

Hilda  listened  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon 
her  cousin's  face,  and  a  mournful  expression  of 
countenance  which  did  not  alter  in  the  least. 
When  Gertie  ceased  speaking,  she  remained  per- 
fectly silent. 

"Come  on,"  said  Gertie,  "let's  go  see  the 
summer-house." 

The  children  went  together  across  the  leaf- 
strewn  lawn  to  the  little  green-painted  shelter 
which  had  struck  Hilda  at  first  sight  as  a  charm- 
ing place  to  play  house  in.  Tattered  morning- 
glory  vines  were  rattling  their  dry,  brown  stems 
against  its  latticed  sides,  and  it  looked  about  as 
much  like  the  pleasant,  breezy  retreat  which  it 
formed  on  a  midsummer  afternoon  as  the  two 
solemn-faced  children  who  entered  it  looked  like 
the  happy  sprites  they  had  been  half  an  hour 
earlier. 

"Have  you  named  it   yet?"  Gertie  asked. 


FIRST.  39 

"Named  it  ?"  repeated  Hilda,  gloomily.  " No. 
Why?" 

"  O,  I  always  name  everything;  it  makes  it 
easier  to  talk  about.  Let's  call  it  for  some 
place  we  'd  like  to  see,  and  then  when  we  speak 
of  it,  it  will  seem  as  if  we  knew  all  about  that 
place.  Suppose  we  call  it  Kansas.  What  do 
you  think?" 

Hilda  had  no  objection.  She  was  not  sure 
that  she  could  remember  the  name,  but  it  was 
not  worth  while  to  say  so. 

"  Then  when  I  write  to  you  I  can  ask  how 
the  crops  in  Kansas  are  this  year,  and  you  can 
say  the  're  all  dead.  That  will  mean  these 
vines,  you  know.  Hilda,  what  is  that  boy 
doing?" 

She  meant  the  boy  in  the  adjoining  place. 
He  was  about  as  large  as  Ernest,  and  he  had 
a  very  round  head  and  exceedingly  round,  brown 
eyes.  Hilda's  attention  had  been  caught  by  his 
actions  just  before  Gertie  asked  her  question, 
and  now  the  two  stood,  with  the  brisk  October 
air  playing  over  their  uncovered  heads,  and 
watched  him  through  the  doorway  of  the  sum- 
mer-house. His  blue  cap  was  pushed  back 
from  his  forehead,  and  fastened  to  its  front  was 
a  smair  Japanese  lantern.  He  had  been  running 
stiffly  and  steadily  up  and  down  the  entire 
length  of  the  fence  which  separated  the  two 


40  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

places,  and  now  he  stopped  short  and  began 
puffing  and  blowing.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  he  was  at  present  an  imitation  of  a  locomo- 
tive ;  a  moment  later  the  ears  of  the  girls  were 
pierced  by  a  prolonged,  shrieking  sound.  The 
locomotive  was  blowing  its  whistle.  After  this 
signal  it  went  rapidly  on  its  way,  ringing  a  bell 
which  sounded  very  much  like  a  human  voice 
repeating  the  incomprensible  monosyllable, 
"Glarn!  Glarn !" 

Out  of  the  next  house  came  a  little  girl,  all 
dressed  for  walking.  She  was  a  neat  and  prim 
little  creature,  holding  her  head  almost  pain- 
fully erect  under  its  sailor  hat ;  and  as  she 
turned  toward  them,  coming  slowly  over  the 
lawn,  they  saw  that  her  face  wore  a  very  self- 
satisfied  expression. 

"Hilda,"  exclaimed  Gertie,  eagerly,  "that's 
the  girl  I  told  about — the  girl  that  fell  down  on 
the  sidewalk." 

"  Is  it  ?"  asked  Hilda,  deeply  interested. 
"The  boy  won't  speak  to  her." 

"Fred!  Fred!"  called  the  little  girl,  stand- 
ing close  to  her  brother,  who  had  again  stopped 
his  train  at  a  station,  and  was  puffing  violently. 
He  paid  no  more  heed  to  her  than  an  actual 
steam-engine  would  pay  to  any  human  being 
who  stood  beside  its  track  and  shouted.  The 
girl  touched  his  arm,  and,  growing  impatient, 


FIRST.  41 

even  shook  it,  but  he  refused  to  be  diverted. 
The  shrill  whistle  rose  up  through  the  air  and 
the  train  started ;  whereupon  the  determined 
little  girl  threw  herself  directly  in  its  way,  and 
the  locomotive  found  a  tongue. 

"Look  out,"  it  said;  "you'll  get  run  over." 

"Fred  Tomlinson,"  began  his  sister,  very 
earnestly ;  and  after  that,  although  she  went  on 
speaking,  Gertie  and  Hilda  could  not  hear  what 
she  said.  But  they  saw  her  point  in  their  di- 
rection ;  and  the  boy  looked  across  the  fence 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  cried  the  girl,  again  raising 
her  voice  ;  "  mamma  said  so."  She  turned  back 
to  the  house.  The  boy  followed  with  apparent 
reluctance,  and  both  children  disappeared 
through  the  front  door. 

"  They  're  coming  over  here,"  affirmed  Gertie. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Hilda. 

"Yes,  they  are,"  asserted  her  cousin. 
"  They  're  coming  to  make  a  call.  Now  we  '11 
find  out  what  that  girl's  name  is.  Her  brother 
is  Fred.  I  think  he  's  a  queer  sort  of  boy,  and 
I  guess  we'd  better  go  in  and  tell  Ernest." 


"THE  BOY  THAT  USED  TO  LIVE  HERE." 

THEY  could  not  find  Ernest  at  first,  but  he 
was  finally  discovered  talking  over  the  back 
fence  with  a  man  in  a  white  chip  hat.  This 
man  had  stopped  to  inquire  whether  the  new 
occupants  of  the  place  wanted  either  a  wood- 
shed or  a  chicken-coop.  If  they  desired  any 
such  things,  he  was  the  builder  for  them  ;  and 
he  magnificently  offered  to  stock  the  coop  with 
fowls  of  the  finest  breed.  It  chanced  that  Er- 
nest had  been  reading  a  serial  story  in  the  chil- 
dren's department  of  one  of  the  weekly  papers, 
the  hero  of  which  began  at  the  age  of  twelve  to 
keep  chickens,  and  thus  laid  the  foundation  for 
the  most  amazing  success  in  life.  Notwithstand- 
ing he  gave  away  beautiful  baskets  of  eggs  to 
every  one  who  patted,  him  on  the  head  or  smiled 
upon  him  in  the  street,  he  was  able  in  a  short 
space  of  time  to  lift  the  family  from  poverty 
42 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  43 

to  comfort.  Having  started  both  his  younger 
brothers  on  the  same  royal  road,  he  departed  for 
college,  wearing  a  heavy  gold  watch  and  chain, 
which  a  circle  of  admiring  fellow-townsmen 
had  presented  him. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Ernest's  am- 
bition was  aroused.  He  was  not,  to  be  sure, 
especially  anxious  to  go  to  college,  but  he 
wished  earnestly  to  become  the  owner  of  a  fine 
gold  watch.  Therefore  he  detained  the  carpen- 
ter to  make  inquiries  concerning  the  price  of 
chickens.  The  answers  were  unsatisfactory,  and 
both  man  and  boy  were  growing  tired  of  the 
conversation  when  Gertie  and  Hilda  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  The  information  that  a  boy 
lived  next  door,  and  that  Gertie  was  positive  he 
was  coming  to  call,  interested  Ernest  greatly ; 
he  took  off  his  hat  and  anxiously  smoothed  his 
hair,  which  was  the  chief  disturber  of  his  hap- 
piness. It  had  an  irritating  habit  of  standing 
erect,  one  little  plume  above  his  forehead  and 
one  on  his  crown ;  even  now,  closely  as  it  was 
shingled,  he  never  felt  fit  to  appear  in  company 
unless  what  hair  remained  was  stiffened  flat 
with  a  water- soaked  brush. 

Accordingly  he  went  back  to  the  house  with 
all  speed.  The  girls  followed  more  slowly,  for 
the  way  lay  through  an  apple-orchard,  and  the 
wide-spreading  trees,  their  branches  so  wonder- 


44  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

fully  curved  and  twisted,  delighted  Gertie  be- 
yond expression.  She  wished  that  summer  were 
not  so  far  away,  that  she  and  Hilda  might  keep 
house  in  these  airy  castles. 

"Each  in  her  own,  you  know,  Hilda,"  she 
chattered.  "  I  don't  believe  we'll  care  for  the 
summer-house  at  all.  Suppose  we  choose  them 
now." 

But  Hilda,  less  enthusiastic,  replied  that  she 
was  n't  quite  warm,  and  believed  she  would 
rather  go  in.  When  Ernest,  his  head  feeling 
very  damp  and  chilly,  descended  the  front  stairs, 
he  saw  both  the  girls  pressed  against  the  wall, 
just  beyond  the  open  doorway.  The  two  little 
heads  were  so  close  together  that  Gertie's  rip- 
pling locks  flowed  over  Hilda's  darker  ringlets. 
A  pair  of  eager  faces  looked  up  at  him,  and  two 
voices  hissed,  in  a  loud,  excited  whisper: 

"  Sh-h!  they  're  just  coming  up  the  steps.'' 

A  moment  later  and  the  boy  Fred  stood  on 
the  threshold,  his  sister  close  behind  him.  He 
met  Ernest  with  extended  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  was  his  polite  inquiry. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  Ernest  hurried  to  re- 
spond. "  Come  into  the  parlor." 

So  they  all  formed  into  line  and  marched  in, 
Ernest  first,  the  strangers  following,  Gertie  next, 
and  Hilda  last  of  all.  Two  of  the  yellow 
wooden  chairs,  which  looked  so  odd  on  the  beau- 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  45 

tiful  new  Wilton  carpet,  stood  in  the  bay-win- 
dow, and  the  boys  settled  themselves  upon  these 
with  more  haste  than  was  exactly  polite.  When 
the  girls  were  seated,  they  were  in  a  straight 
row,  facing  the  boys  across  nearly  the  width  of 
the  room. 

Deep  silence  reigned  over  the  party.  Hilda 
heard  Rose  call  to  Blanche,  and  her  voice, 
though  far  away,  had  never  seemed  so  loud. 
The  poor  little  hostess  began  to  feel  very  nerv- 
ous. She  looked  at  the  carpet,  and  then  out  of 
the  window.  Two  or  three  times  she  was  going 
to  say  something,  but  checked  herself,  because 
she  was  afraid  it  would  sound  silly.  It  was 
quite  a  relief  to  hear  Gertie's  voice. 

"  Your  name  's  PAred,"  she  announced,  in 
clear,  ringing  tones.  •  As  the  strange  boy  offered 
no  denial  of  this  statement,  she  added,  after  a 
brief  pause  : 

"  But  I  do  n't  remember  your  last  name." 

"  Tomlinson,"  suggested  Fred.  He  spoke 
very  pleasantly,  but  seemed  to  have  nothing 
further  to  say. 

"  My  name  's  Annie  Tomlinson,"  volunteered 
his  sister. 

"  O,  it  is?"  asked  Gertie,  as  if  very  much 
surprised.  "My  name's  Gertie  Winner,  and 
this  is  my  cousin,  Hilda  Craig,  and  this  is  Ernest 
Craig." 


46  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Don't  you  live  here?"  inquired  Annie, 
drawing  up  her  feet  to  fix  them  on  her  chair. 

"  No,  I  live  in  the  city,  on  Walnut  Street. 
Were  you  ever  there  ?" 

Both  visitors  answered  at  once. 

"  Yes,  when  the  torchlight  parade  went 
along." 

"  I  was  n't  there  then,"  returned  Gertie,  to 
their  evident  disappointment.  "  I  was  away 
visiting." 

The  subject  being  thus  speedily  exhausted, 
the  uncomfortable  silence  resumed  its  sway. 
This  time  it  was  broken  by  Annie.  She  turned 
so  suddenly  upon  Hilda  that  the  timid  little 
creature  started,  and  demanded  abruptly : 

"  Are  these  your  parlor  chairs  ?" 

"  They  're  our  kitchen  chairs,"  Hilda  an- 
swered, and  a  crimson  wave  rushed  into  her 
cheeks,  and  overflowed  on  her  brow.  "  Our 
parlor  furniture  has  n't  come  yet ;  but  I  guess 
it  will  to-morrow.  Papa  went  to  town  to  see 
about  it." 

"What  color  is  it?"  pursued  Annie,  who 
seemed  greedy  for  information. 

"  It  is  n't  all  one  color.  There  's  one  blue 
chair,  I  know,  because  Blanche  told  papa  to  get 
it,  and  she  asked  him  if  he^did,  and  he  said  yes. 
And  I  guess  there  's  a  gold  chair,  and  maybe 
there  's  a  red  one.  Ernest  says  he  hopes  so." 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  47 

"O,  and  a  chair  all  kinds  of  colors!  Hilda, 
have  you  got  that  ?"  eagerly  inquired  Gertie. 

"  I  do  n't  know.     I  guess  not." 

"  We  've  got  a  new  one,  and  it  is  prettier 
than  any  of  the  rest.  Where  other  chairs  are  all 
red  or  all  blue,  it  is  all  colors  mixed  up,  so  that 
you  can't  see  any  of  them.  Mamma  says  it 
looks  Oriental." 

"What's  Oriental?"  sounded  Ernest's  voice 
from  the  bay-window. 

"  It  is  something  about  Persia,  or  somewhere 
over  there,"  Gertie  answered,  feeling  that  she 
understood  the  word,  but  could  not  explain  it  to 
her  own  satisfaction.  "I  know  I  read  it  a  good 
deal  in  a  Persian  story,  but  I  read  it  in  other 
places,  too." 

"Ho!  what  do  you  know  about  Persia?" 
called  out  Fred ;  but  his  discourteous  interrup- 
tion passed  unheeded. 

"  Our  parlor  chairs  are  all  red,"  Annie  in- 
formed the  company,  "  except  one  white  chair 
that  has  gold  feet  and  a  partly  gold  back.  That 
is  what  Cousin  Nellie  gave  mamma  for  a  birth- 
day present." 

"  Next  week  is  my  birthday." 

The  mention  of  presents  had  brought  this 
pleasing  fact  to  Hilda's  mind.  The  dimple  in 
her  cheek  deepened  as  she  spoke.  It  was  such 
a  happiness  to  be  near  this  important  day. 


48  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  be  nine  years  old,"  ob- 
served Annie,  giving  her  a  comprehensive 
glance. 

"  Yes  ;  is  that  how  old  you  are?" 

"  I  was  nine  last  April.  I  'm  taller  than  you 
are." 

"So  you're  taller  than  I  am?"  remarked 
Gertie,  cheerfully ;  "  and  I  'm  ten.  But  I 
do  'nt  care  if  I  am  little." 

"Do  you  get  birthday  presents,  or  have  what 
you  like  for  dinner  ?"  questioned  the  young  vis- 
itor. She  was  feeling  more  at  her  ease  every 
minute,  and  ventured  now  to  pull  out  the  folds 
of  her  dress  sleeve.  It  had  rolled  up  under  the 
sleeve  of  her  coat  in  a  manner  which  made  her 
quite  uncomfortable. 

"I  do  both,"  answered  Hilda,  with  great 
satisfaction. 

"O  Hilda!"  broke  in  Gertie,  with  sparkling 
eyes.  "  I  just  believe  I  '11  come  and  spend 
your  birthday  with  you.  You  want  me,  do  n't 
yon?" 

"  O  Gertie,  do !"  cried  Hilda,  giving  her  a 
joyous  hug.  Annie  saw  herself  left  out  of  their 
festive  anticipations,  and  began  to  feel  gloomy. 

By  this  time  the  hitherto  comparatively 
silent  boys  were  talking  busily.  The  remarks  : 
"  I  was  eleven  in  June,"  and  "  so  was  I,  on  the 
sixteenth,"  were  audible  across  the  room.  Now, 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  49 

iii  the  pause  of  the  girl's  conversation,  Fred  was 
heard  to  say  : 

"I  don't  suppose  you  could  climb  that  big 
tree  down  by  the  gate." 

"I  do  .n't  suppose  you  could,  either," 
promptly  responded  Ernest,  with  a  close  imita- 
tion of  the  other's  contemptuous  tones. 

u  Well,  I  never  tried,"  was  the  prudent  re- 
joinder ;  "but  the  boy  that  lived  here  before  you 
came  could  do  it  He  could  slide  up  that  trunk, 
sir,  before  you  could  say  a  b  c.  There  was  n't 
anything  that  fellow  could  n't  climb,  whether 
you  think  so  or  not.  There  is  n't  a  tree  in 
Hawthorn  but  what  he  's  been  up  it." 

"  Hum,"  remarked  Ernest,  as  disrespectfully 
as  he  could.  But  Annie  began  to  talk  with 
much  animation. 

"  O,  the  boy  that  used  to  live  here,  girls, 
you  ought  to  have  seen  him  !  His  mother  said 
she  never  had  an  easy  moment  when  he  was 
out  of  her  sight.  Up  one  tree  and  down  the 
next — I  mean  both  about  both  of  them.  And 
if  he  was  carrying  anything,  he  just  dropped  it 
right  on  the  ground  ;  and  one  time  our  dog  ran 
away  with  his  new  shoes." 

Hilda  and  Gertie  looked  deeply  interested, 
but  Ernest  remarked,  gloomily,  "  Smart  boy," 
and  Fred  considered  himself  insulted. 

"  O,  very  well,  maybe  you  can  jump  better 
4 


50  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

than  he  could.  Do  you  know  how  high  our 
coal-shed  is?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Then  you  come  to  this  other  window,  and 
I  '11  show  you." 

The  window  flew  up  with  a  startling  noise, 
being  pushed  by  two  pairs  of  hands.  The  boys 
crowded  close  together,  their  heads  and  shoul- 
ders thrust  through  the  aperture,  and  their  arms 
gesticulating  outside,  while  their  feet  flourished 
wildly  within.  A  semicircle  of  girls  formed  it- 
self rapidly,  just  beyond  the  reach  of  their  heels. 

"  There  it  is,  Mr.  Ernest,"  said  Fred,  taunt- 
ingly. "  It  is  n't  such  a  little  bit  of  a  jump 
after  all,  is  it  ?" 

Ernest  measured  it  with  his  eye,  preserving 
carefully  an  appearance  of  lofty  indifference. 
Then  he  asked  : 

"  What 's  the  name  of  that  fellow  that  you 
think  was  so  terribly  great?" 

"  Stephen  Mountjoy.  And  he  was  n't  the 
kind  of  chap  that  you  're  trying  to  make  out, 
either,"  cried  Fred,  excitedly. 

"  Well,"  returned  Ernest,  delighted  with  the 
success  of  his  attempt  to  irritate  his  visitor. 
"I  hope  he  could  do  something  more  than  jump 
a  wee  piece  like  that."  The  boys  glared  at  each 
other  for  a  moment,  then  drew  in  their  heads 
and  stood  upright. 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  51 

"  Do  yon  want  to  try  it  ?" 

"  Yes;  come  on." 

The  girls  were  unprepared  for  the  sudden- 
ness of  their  determination,  and  the  swiftness 
with  which  they  proceeded  to  execute  it.  Hilda 
was  thrown  against  Annie,  who  was  knocked 
against  a  chair,  and  struck  her  elbow  violently 
upon  the  hard  wood.  She  had  rather  promi- 
nent lips,  and  the  discomfort  of  the  accident 
made  them  stick  out  farther  than  was  usual.  Her 
eyebrows  descended  nearer  to  her  cheeks  than 
you  would  have  thought  possible  ;  she  gave  a 
short,  angry  growl,  and  then  rubbed  her  elbow 
in  sulky  silence. 

"Did  I  make  you  get  hurt?"  asked  Hilda, 
humbly.  "  I  did  n't  go  to  do  it." 

The  meek,  troubled  expression  of  her  gentle 
face  made  Annie  feel  ashamed.  The  pain  of 
her  bruise  was  already  past.  It  had  been  only 
a  slight  thing  while  it  lasted,  for  small  trials 
are  most  likely  to  make  people  cross.  Great 
griefs  leave  us  no  strength  for  anger.  She 
knew  that  Hilda  was  not  at  all  responsible  for 
the  accident;  but  she  still  felt  too  ill-tempered  to 
say  so,  and  therefore  she  changed  the  subject. 

"  Your  brother  will  get  hurt,"  said  she,  very 
positively. 

"Why,  when  the  other  boy  could  jump?" 
asked  Hilda.  She  felt  uneasy  for  his  safety,  yet 


52  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

was  determined  not  to  allow  him  to  be  less  re- 
markable than  the  celebrated  u  boy  that  used  to 
live  here." 

"The  ground  was  n't  so  hard  when  Stevie 
jumped.  There  is  n't  any  grass  by  our  coal- 
shed,  and  maybe  there 's  some  boards.  If  I 
was  you  I  would  n't  let  him." 

"  But  he  's  gone,"  wailed  Hilda. 

"  Let 's  run  after  them,"  Gertie  suggested, 
not  altogether  unselfishly,  it  must  be  confessed. 
She  was  more  anxious  to  see  the  proof  of  Ernest's 
ability  than  to  prevent  its  taking  place.  Both 
her  companions  agreed  at  once.  They  ran  off 
as  readily  as  their  brothers  had  done,  although 
not  quite  so  heedlessly.  Through  the  kitchen 
window  Rose  saw  them  come  rushing  around 
the  corner  of  the  house,  and  smiled  to  see  how 
energetically  they  were  running ;  but  she  did 
not  look  after  them,  nor  dream  that  their  excite- 
ment had  any  unusual  cause. 

By  this  time  the  boys  had  reached  the  fence 
which  divided  the  apple-orchard  from  the 
grounds  of  Mr.  Tomlinson.  Fred  flung  himself 
over  it  in  an  instant,  and  Ernest  followed  almost 
as  nimbly,  notwithstanding  he  was  city-bred, 
and  had  had  little  practice  in  climbing  fences. 
His  heart  beat  hard,  and  he  felt  as  if  in  a  fever. 
It  is  bad  "enough  if  one  of  your  acquaintances 
claims  to  be  your  superior,  yet  there  are  many 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  53 

ways  in  which  you  may  dispute  his  claim.  If 
he  can  run  faster  than  you,  perhaps  he  can  not 
run  so  long  without  stopping  to  rest ;  and  per- 
haps he  is  not  so  sure-footed,  but  is  more  apt  to 
stumble.  Even  if  in  all  these  respects  he  bears 
off  the  palm,  perhaps  he  is  not  bright  about  his 
school-work.  He  may  not  know  that  Christo- 
pher Columbus  did  not  discover  the  Continent 
of  North  America,  but  only  the  outlying  islands, 
or  he  may  not  be  able  to  spell  "  hippopotamus." 
If,  however,  you  can  not  distance  him  here,  it 
is  possible  that  his  every-day  shoes  are  patched, 
or  that  he  has  never  been  to  New  York.  There 
must  surely  be  some  circumstance  by  means  of 
which  you  can  prove  yourself  as  good  as  he. 

But  the  case  is  quite  different  when,  instead 
of  boasting  about  himself,  he  boasts  about  a  boy 
whom  you  have  never  seen,  and  probably  never 
will  see.  For  all  you  know,  this  mysterious 
personage  may  be  able  to  do  all  that  you  can  do 
and  much  more  that  you  have  never  dreamed  of 
doing.  There  is  only  one  way  to  silence  your 
friend  when  he  discourses  about  "the  boy  that 
used  to  live  here."  You  must  prove  your  tal- 
ents by  a  deed  so  brilliant  that  the  glimmer  of 
that  other  boy's  accomplishments  will  fade  away 
forever  in  its  dazzling  light. 

Thoughts  something  like  these  were  hurry- 
ing Ernest  along.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider 


54  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

whether  he  were  doing  a  safe  or  a  wise  thing ; 
he  only  knew  that  he  would  not  be  sneered  at  by 
Fred  Tomlinson  on  account  of  Stephen  Mountjoy. 

"The  ladder  is  down  by  the  stable;  help  me 
to  bring  it  up,"  said  Fred,  in  business-like  tones. 
It  was  a  good  deal  of  a  load  for  the  shoulders  of 
two  small  boys,  but  one  is  willing  to  work  hard 
in  a  great  cause.  They  planted  it  unsteadily 
against  the  shed,  and  were  just  beginning  the 
ascent,  when  three  little  girls  arrived  at  the 
fence  near  by. 

"Don't  go  up,  Ernest,"  .shrieked  Hilda's 
voice,  its  sweet  tones  shrill  with  anxiety. 
"You'll  get  hurt  if  you  jump.  The  ground  is 
harder  than  it  was  ;  Annie  says  so." 

"  O,  shut  up !"  growled  Fred.  I  will  do 
him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  did  not  often 
speak  so  rudely  to  girls.  But  it  is  very  aggra- 
vating when  your  own  sister  tries  to  prevent  your 
getting  fun  out  of  a  new  acquaintance. 

Ernest  did  not  trouble  himself  to  reply. 
Since  his  mind  was  fully  made  up,  it  was  not 
worth  while  to  waste  time  in  argument.  Hilda 
sent  after  him  several  imploring  cries,  and  Ger- 
tie warned  him  with  the  declaration  : 

"  That  '3  the  totteriest  ladder  I  ever  saw." 

The  ladder  was  certainly  swaying,  as  if  it 
knew  what  Ernest  was  about  to  attempt,  and 
dreaded  the  consequence.  Both  boys  were 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  55 

upon  it,  Fred  nearest  the  top,  and  Ernest  close 
behind  him  ;  and  neither  of  the  two  altogether 
liked  the  ceaseless  shivering  of  their  support. 
Now  it  became  evident  that  instead  of  shaking 
with  sympathetic  alarm  lest  the  children  should 
get  hurt,  the  ladder  was  preparing  to  do  its  best 
to  hurt  them  itself.  It  rocked  harder,  slipped, 
and  fell  crashing  to  the  ground.  Fred  was  just 
making  the  last  step,  and  in  his  terror  he  sprang 
to  the  middle  of  the  roof;  but  Ernest  was  less 
fortunate.  He  made  one  desperate  effort  to  jump 
upward,  and  dropped  helplessly  to  the  ground. 

Such  an  awful  chorus  of  shrieks  went  tear- 
ing up  to  the  cool  blue  sky  that  the  inmates  of 
both  houses  hastened  to  follow  the  guidance  of 
the  sound,  and  met  upon  the  spot:  Mr.  Craig 
was  making  so  much  noise  with  hammer  and 
nails  that  neither  he  nor  Archer  was  attracted 
by  the  outcry ;  but  Mrs.  Craig  was  in  the  kitchen 
with  Rose,  and  the  two  flew  forth  bareheaded, 
in  an  agony  of  alarm. 

When  the  poor  lady  reached  the  fence,  she 
saw  Ernest  lying  motionless  upon  the  ground. 
His  face  was  white  and  still,  and  one  arm 
was  outstretched  upon  the  fallen  ladder.  Some- 
body flung  open  a  gate,  a  long  distance  back, 
and  called  to  the  terrified  mother  to  come  that 
way.  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Craig  that  her  feet 
were  heavy  and  feelingless  as  lead.  They 


56  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

moved  when  she  willed  it,  but  O,  so  slowly, 
and  as  if  they  did  not  touch  the  ground  !  At 
last  she  reached  her  boy,  who  lay  so  wonder- 
fully still  that  she  doubted  whether  he  lived. 

But  when  his  mother  lifted  him  up,  Ernest 
opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  recognizingly. 
Then,  with  a  heart-rending  groan,  he  closed 
them  again,  and  one  arm  dropped  limp  and 
powerless  at  his  side. 

"  His  arm  is  broken  !"  cried  his  mother,  sink- 
ing upon  the  prostrate  ladder,  and  holding  the 
fainting  child  upon  her  knees.  "O,  Hilda,  run 
for  your  father  ;  and  Gertie — Rose — won't  some- 
body please  go  for  a  doctor?" 

There  was  no  lack  of  assistance.  One  of  the 
strangers  wh.om  she  had  seen,  but  whose  presence 
she  had  not  heeded,  sped  away  in  search  of  a 
surgeon,  and  Mrs.  Tomlinson,  thus  strangely 
introduced,  offered  all  that  her  house  could  af- 
ford, and  all  that  it  lay  iri  her  power  to  ac- 
complish. 

Hilda  soon  came  back  with  her  father  and 
brother,  and  poor  Ernest,  moaning  with  pain, 
was  carried  as  tenderly  as  possible  to  his  own 
home.  It  seemed  like  a  long  journey ;  every 
step  that  his  bearers  took  added  to  his  sufferings, 
and  they  moved  so  slowly  and  cautiously  that 
many  minutes  passed  before  they  reached  the 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  57 

house.  He  was  hardly  laid  upon  a  lounge  in 
the  library  when  the  doctor  was  brought  in. 

This  doctor  was  a  large,  firmly-built  man, 
with  broad  shoulders  and  a  face  upon  whose 
plain  features  the  light  of  a  kindly  spirit  lay 
like  sunshine  bn  a  rocky  land.  I  think  the 
whole  family  felt  better  as  soon  as  they  saw  him. 
He  was  sympathetic  without  being  doleful,  and 
cheerful  without  being  coarse.  His  fingers 
looked  clumsy,  but  they  bandaged  Ernest's  arm? 
which  was  found  to  be  broken  at  the  elbow,  with 
touches  so  deft  and  gentle  that  they  seemed  to 
soothe  the  pain  they  were  obliged  to  create.  Yet 
not  all  Dr.  Macdonald's  carefulness  could  keep 
the  operation  from  hurting  the  poor  little  pa- 
tient very  much. 

Mrs.  Craig  sat  beside  Ernest,  supporting 
him  in  her  embrace.  His  head  lay  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  when  the  torture  was  most  in- 
tense, he  would  try  to  stifle  his  cries  by  press- 
ing his  lips  against  her  neck.  By  degrees  he 
grew  quieter,  resting  against  his  mother  with 
closed  eyes;  and  when  the  doctor  rose,  pro- 
nouncing the  work  of  resetting  and  bandaging 
complete,  they  spoke  to  the  child  and  discovered 
that  he  was  in  a  sound  sleep.  Pain  and  excite- 
ment had  brought  their  own  relief.  He  was  so 
exhausted  that  he  could  not  suffer  any  more ; 


58  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

his  breath  came  softly  and  easily  through  his 
parted  lips,  but  there  was  still  a  wrinkle  of 
pain  on  his  forehead,  which  rest  would  soon 
smooth  out. 

The  doctor  went  quietly  away,  with  an  en- 
couraging smile  for  good-bye.  Blanche  brought 
shawls  and  pillows,  with  which  the  patient  was 
made  comfortable;  and  the  elders  returned  to 
their  neglected  work,  leaving  Gertie  and  Hilda 
to  watch  his  slumbers. 

They  sat  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  staircase, 
just  beyond  the  door,  which  they  left  partly  open. 
The  outside  door  was  now  tightly  closed,  for 
the  sun  was  setting  and  the  evening  air  quite 
chilly;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  fires  had  been 
lighted  in  several  rooms. 

"He's  dreadfully  hurt,  isn't  he?"  asked 
Gertie,  in  a  resonant  whisper. 

"  O,  fearfully.  Trie  doctor  says  he  will  have 
to  wear  his  arm  in  a  sling  for  four  or  five  weeks. 
Isn't  it  such  a  pity,  Gertie?  Will  he  have  to 
lie  on  the  lounge  all  the  time,  do  you  suppose?" 

"  Perhaps  your  papa  can  carry  him  up  to 
bed,  and  then  down  in  the  morning,"  answered 
Gertie,  thoughtfully.  "I  don't  see  why  not, 
when  he  carried  him  all  the  way  home.  O  my  ! 
I  hope  he  won't  ever  climb  up  a  ladder  again." 

"  He  might  get  Archer  to  hold  it,  you  know," 
suggested  Hilda;  and  at  the  mention  of  his 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  59 

name  her  elder  brother  appeared,  stealing  in  at 
the  back  hall  door  with  his  shoes  in  his  hand. 

"I  thought  I'd  better  take  them  off,"  he  ex- 
plained, as  soon  as  he  was  near  enough  for  his 
subdued  accents  to  be  audible.  "  How  is  Er- 
nest now?  Is  he  asleep  still?" 

As  less  than  five  minutes  had  elapsed  since 
Ernest  was  left  alone  it  is  not  remarkable  that 
his  slumbers  were  still  unbroken.  That  this 
was  really  the  case  Archer  proceeded  to  assure 
himself,  urging  the  door  stealthily  backward, 
and  thrusting  in  a  head  over  which  the  fine 
dark  hair  rolled  and  twisted  in  short,  thick 
curls. 

"Sound  as  a  nut,"  he  asserted,  drawing  back 
with  an  exultant  smile. 

Bang!  Bang!  One  after  the  other  Archer's 
thick-soled  shoes  slipped  from  his  arm  and 
dropped  heavily  to  the  floor.  The  poor  boy 
immediately  dropped  after  them,  and  the  three 
children  sat  immovable,  fright  stamped  upon 
their  countenances. 

In  this  breathless  silence  the  peaceful  breath- 
ing of  the  sleeper  was  distinctly  heard.  The 
noise  had  not  disturbed  him  in  the  least. 

"You  did  n't  wake  him  up  a  bit,"  said  Gertie, 
for  Archer's  anxious  eyes  seemed  to  be  demand- 
ing such  an  assertion.  "  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
body sleep  so  sound  ?" 


60  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

The  well-meaning  but  unfortunate  youth 
picked  up  his  shoes  and  retired,  very  much  re- 
lieved to  find  that  he  had  done  no  michief ;  and 
a  question  suddenly  recurred  to  Gertie's  mind 
which  she  had  intended  to  ask  several  times 
before. 

"  Hilda,  why  did  Blanche  call  that  old  doll  of 
yours  Susy  First?" 

"  Why,  you  see,"  answered  Hilda,  hesitat- 
ingly,— "why,  you  see,  I  have  a  liking  for  the 
name  of  Susy,  and  I  Ve  named  it  to  a  good  many 
of  my  dolls.  This  is  the  one  I  had  when  I  was 
a  wee  little  girl;  that's  why  Blanche  calls  her 
Susy  First." 

"Then  there  's  Susy  Second  and  Susy  Third, 
just  like  queens,"  said  Gertie,  appreciatively. 
"That  sounds  real  nice,  only  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  keep  on  giving  the  same  name  over 
and  over  again.  I  call  my  dolls  for  people  in 
the  books  I  read,  and  there's  so  many  lovely, 
charming  names  that  I  can't  get  dolls  fast 
enough.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  really  got 
to  have  a  new  one  because  I  have  such  a  beau- 
tiful name  to  give  her." 

"  Ever  and  ever  so  many  years  ago,"  said 
Hilda,  "  before  I  could  read  at  all — O,  I  could  n't 
have  been  very  much  more  than  a  baby — my 
mamma  read  me  a  Sunday-school  book.  It  was 
'  Little  Susy's  Six  Birthdays,'  and  I  liked  it  so 


THE  ROY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  61 

much  that  I  named  my  new  doll  Susy.  That  is 
the  way  it  began;  and  I  do  n't  stop  liking  Susy 
somehow,  although  I  'in  such  a  great  deal 
older." 

"  I  guess  they  're  cooking  dinner,  are  n't 
they?"  asked  Gertie,  a  waft  of  something  agree- 
able diverting  her  thoughts.  "  Where  are  we 
going  to  have  it,  Hilda?  The  dining-room  is 
full  of  books." 

"  O,  we  eat  in  the  kitchen  now,"  replied  her 
cousin.  "It's  lots  of  fun.  Don't  you  think 
it 's  queer,  Gertie,  that  you  like  to  do  things  so 
much  sometimes,  when  you  would  n't  do  them 
always  for  anything  in  this  world  ?" 

Gertie  knew  this  to  be  a  fact,  but  was  quite 
unable  to  explain  it. 

"  Of  course,  in  summer  we  would  not  like  to 
eat  in  the  kitchen,  because  the  range  would 
make  it  too  hot." 

u  And  when  you  have  a  cook,  where  would 
she  go  to  ?"  questioned  Hilda.  "  But  we  have  n't 
any  cook  yet ;  nobody  but  Rose,  that  we  know 
as  well  as  we  know  ourselves.  The  woman  that 
cleans  has  gone  home." 

Ernest's  voice  summoned  them  now.  He 
had  awakened  refreshed,  it  is  true,  but  with  an 
unpleasant  sense  that  he  was  not  well ;  and  his 
tones  were  hoarse  and  peevish.  The. girls  were 
so  sorry  for  him  that  they  bore  his  fretfulness  very 


62  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

patiently,  and  did  what  they  could  to  cheer  him. 
When  Mrs.  Craig  came  in  she  found  them  all 
three  in  excellent  spirits,  enjoying  a  lively  con- 
versation. 

It  was  not  at  all  necessary,  as  she  soon  let 
them  know,  for  Ernest  to  lie  still  all  day,  and 
be  carried  up  and  down  stairs.  He  could  go 
about  as  well  as  usual,  except  that  he  could  not 
use  the  injured  arm,  and  must  be  careful  to 
protect  it  from  shocks.  As  soon  as  he  learned 
this  he  felt  quite  recovered,  and  sprang  up  so 
actively  that  his  sister  was  alarmed.  Dinner 
was  ready,  so  they  wound  their  way  through 
the  crowded  diniiig-rooin  into  the  kitchen. 

The  meal  was  spread  upon  a  sharp-cornered 
pine  table,  much  too  small  to  afford  ample  ac- 
commodations, although  there  was  not  a  great 
deal  of  variety.  The  principal  dish  was  an 
oyster-stew,  and  the  whole  family  liked  this  so 
much  that  they  thought  it  quite  enough  in 
itself.  It  was  served  in  a  block-tin  bucket,  which, 
being  quite  new  and  highly  polished,  twinkled 
in  the  gas  rays  as  brilliantly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
silver  tureen.  The  soup-plates  had  not  yet 
been  discovered  in  the  course  of  unpacking,  and 
a  remarkable  collection  supplied  the  lack.  Some 
of  the  assembly  took  their  soup  from  tea-cups ; 
one  had  a  yellow  bowl,  with  a  border  of  green 
and  red  stripes,  and  another  a  delicate,  trans- 


THE  BOY  THAT  LIVED  HERE.  63 

parent  dish,  which  Blanche  had  decorated  with 
a  wreath  of  lilies  of  the  valley.  To  Ernest  was 
assigned  an  aged  china  sugar-bowl.  The  chil- 
dren considered  this  the  most  desirable  of  all  ; 
and  by  common  consent  it  was  yielded  to  that 
member  of  the  family  who  might  be  regarded 
as  in  need  of  consolation. 


Chapter 

AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA. 

ERTIE  could  not  be  with  Hilda  upon  her 
birthday,  as  the  two  had  planned.  She 
took  a  severe  cold,  and  her  throat  became  so  sore 
that  it  was  thought  best  to  keep  her  in  the 
house.  This  was  a  severe  disappointment  to  the 
cousins,  who,  although  they  had  lived  so  long 
without  each  other,  had  in  a  few  days  become 
such  intimate  companions  that  they  were  not 
contented  apart. 

Before  going  to  bed  on  the  birthday  eve, 
Gertie  laid  out  not  only  the  dress  she  would 
have  worn  (or  the  visit,  but  also  her  hat  and 
cloak,  and  even  her  overshoes. 

"  I  '11  be  all  ready,"  she  said,  with  wide, 
eager  eyes,  "  so  that  if  I  should  go,  I  need  n't 
lose  any  time.  If  there  should  n't  be  any  sore- 
ness in  my  throat,  and  if  my  neck  is  n't  the 
least  bit  stiff,  you  would  be  willing  for  me  to 

go,  mamma,  wouldn't  you?" 
64 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  65 

"  Dear,"  her  mother  answered,  "  it  would 
not  be  honest  in  me  to  say  that  I  have  any  hope 
of  your  being  well  enough  to  go.  Instead  of  ar- 
ranging for  that,  suppose  you  write  Hilda  a  note, 
to  send  with  the  box  of  candy  you  have  for  her." 

"And  ask  her  to  come  up?" 

"Yes;  she  has  not  yet  started  to  school,  and 
might  perhaps  stay  with  you  several  days." 

Gertie  was  delighted  with  the  suggestion.  A 
host  of  brilliant  plans  almost  crowded  out  her 
disappointment.  She  wrote  Hilda  a  letter,  al- 
together too  long  to  be  called  a  note.  Writing 
was  never  the  task  to  her  which  it  is  to  many 
children  of  her  age,  and  it  was  particularly  easy 
to  write  to  Hilda.  They  had  so  many  flimsy 
little  confidences,  which  they  called  secrets,  al- 
though the  world  would  have  been  welcome  to 
hear  them  had  it  but  cared  to  listen.  Then, 
there  was  mention  of  remarkable  titles,  which, 
for  their  own  convenience  or  amusement,  they 
had  bestowed  upon  their  friends  and  relations. 
Ernest  was  referred  to  as  Astolpho,  because 
Gertie  had  related  to  Hilda  many  of  her  favorite 
legends  of  French  and  English  chivalry,  and 
Astolpho's  extraordinary  faculty  for  getting  him- 
self hurt  had  impressed  them  both,  The  writer's 
signature  was  that  of  Bradamante,  a  most  war- 
like and  successful  maiden,  and  she  addressed 
her  cousin  as  "  darling,  beautiful  Angelica." 

5 


66  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  I  send  you  a  box  of  candy,"  Gertie  wrote. 
"  I  did  n't  make  it  myself,  but  I  can  make  choc- 
olate creams.  If  you  come  up  the  day  after  your 
birthday,  we  '11  make  some,  and  I  really  believe 
you  '11  like  them  better  than  what  we  buy.  At 
least  they  don't  have  good  ones  in  the  stores  on 
Pennsylvania  Avenue,  and  sometimes  you  do  n't 
want  to  go  so  far  up-town.  The  only  thing  is, 
that  you  have  to  be  ever  so  careful  or  you  '11 
cook  it  too  long,  and  if  you  do  n't  hurry  it  gets 
hard  before  you  're  ready.  You  zvill  come,  my 
Angelica,  won't  you  ?  The  doctor  says  my  sore 
throat  is  n't  measles,  or  anything  like  it." 

The  gift  and  letter  were  dispatched  early 
in  the  morning,  and  their  timely  arrival  found 
Hilda  in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness.  Her  face  so- 
bered when  she  learned  that  Gertie  could  not 
be  with  her,  but  brightened  again  because  of 
the  invitation  to  visit  her  cousin  in  captivity. 

"When  your 're  very  happy,"  she  said  to 
Ernest,  who  reclined  in  state,  with  a  many-col- 
ored Afghan  beneath  his  heels,  "it  is  nice  to 
know  that  there  's  going  to  be  some  more  hap- 
piness after  this  is  over.  Sometimes,  when  I  'in 
having  a  good  time,  I  wish  it  was  going  to  be 
to-morrow  instead  of  to-day." 

Ernest's  only  reply  to  this  was  a  dark  and 
dismal  groan.  Of  course  he  could  not  be  mis- 
erable all  the  time,  even  though  his  disabled 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  67 

arm  was  a  burden  and  inconvenience;  but  he 
was  subject  to  fits  of  gloom,  which  usually  at- 
tacked him  when  any  one  else  found  occasion  to 
be  glad.  A  severe  countenance  and  long-drawn 
sighs  reproached  the  offender  who  dared  to  re- 
joice. His  manner  spoke  distinctly  to  those 
who  knew  him  well,  and  said: 

"To  think  of  it!  My  own  brother  and  my 
own  sister  laugh  and  have  fun  just  as  if  I  hadn't 
a  broken  arm." 

This  was  very  unreasonable  in  Ernest,  and 
very  provoking  too;  but  the  rest  of  the  family 
tried  to  remember  that  it  is  not  so  easy  to  be 
pleasant  when  ill  or  wounded  as  when  well  and 
strong.  Hilda  had  more  than  once  stolen  tear- 
fully from  his  side  when  he  had  repaid  her  ef- 
forts for  his  entertainment  with  sharp  words  or 
sullen  looks ;  and  Archer  would  leave  him 
abruptly,  to  cool  his  hot  cheeks  by  a  walk  in 
the  open  air. 

"I'd  be  ashamed  to  get  mad  at  a  sick  fel- 
low," this  manly  boy  explained  to  his  mother, 
"  and  I  'm  'most  afraid  I  shall  if  I  don't  run 
away  for  awhile.  So  if  you  want  anything  at 
the  store  I  '11  go  and  get  it,  and  after  I  come 
back  perhaps  Ernest  would  like  to  play  Messen- 
ger-boy." 

Blanche  was  made  of  sterner  stuff;  she 
would  read  aloud  or  play  with  him  when  time 


68  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

was  not  lacking,  on  condition  that  he  showed 
proper  appreciation  of  her  kindness;  if  he  did 
not,  she  gave  him  a  piece  of  her  mind,  and  left 
him  to  himself. 

"He  isn't  sick,"  said  Blanche.  "  He  can  go 
out  of  doors  when  he  likes,  and  turn  the  house 
upside-down  whenever  he  can  coax  in  a  lot  of 
noisy  boys.  Besides  he  is  eating  all  the  time, 
and  that  does  n't  look  like  a  poor,  suffering  in- 
valid. Everybody  humors  him  too  much  ;  that 
is  the  whole  trouble,  and  I  at  least  won't 
do  it." 

It  might,  at  first  thought,  appear  strange 
that  it  should  be  Blanche  who  uttered  these  de- 
cided words  ;  she  being  the  one  of  all  the  family 
who  had  experienced  least  sickness  and  required 
most  petting  when  she  did  not  feel  well.  A  lit- 
tle more  patience  on  her  part  would  have  had 
an  excellent  effect  on  Ernest ;  he  was  almost 
sure  to  feel  ashamed  and  repentant  after  the 
sudden  fiery  outbursts  which  grieved  his  mother 
and  discomfited  his  sisters. 

The  poor  fellow  wanted  to  be  amused.  He 
was  pleased  that  it  was  Hilda's  birthday,  and 
took  great  interest  in  her  presents;  which  she 
herself  thought  surpassed  anything  a  girl  had 
ever  before  received  on  the  ninth  anniversary  of 
her  birth.  From  her  father  there  was,  as  usual, 
a  book  ;  this  was  a  book-loving  family,  from  the 


AN  ARR1 VAL  FROM  A USTRALIA.  69 

oldest  to  the  youngest ;  and  the  new  volume 
was  Hawthorne's  "  Tanglewood  Tales."  Mrs. 
Craig  had  found  in  one  of  the  city  stores  a  set 
of  dishes  that  were  fairy-like,  not  only  in  size, 
but  also  in  fragility  and  transparency;  and 
Blanche  had  embroidered  Hilda's  initials  upon 
a  dwarfish  outfit  of  table  linen  which  prettily 
seconded  her  mother's  gift.  Blanche  was  a 
wonder-worker  when  she  had  a  needle  in  her 
hand,  and  was  scarcely  less  skillful  with  her 
paint-brush ;  so  the  beautiful  table-cloth  and 
doylies  lay  in  a  blue  silk  case,  decorated  with  a 
wreath  of  wild  roses. 

Archer's  gifts  were  generally  made  striking 
by  the  original  way  in  which  they  were  pre- 
sented. The  penknife  which  he  had  bought 
for  Hilda  was  wrapped  in  several  sheets  of  court- 
plaster  and  inclosed  in  a  box  tightly  fastened 
with  strips  of  the  same. 

"You  '11  be  sure  to  need  it,"  he  said,  quietly, 
when  she  laughed  for  amusement ;  and  so  she 
did.  Gertie's  letter  was  handed  her  soon  after- 
ward, and  she  would  not  let  slip  so  excellent 
an  opportunity  for  putting  the  little  tool  to  use. 
One  slender  blade,  bright  with  danger,  flashed 
into  sight  from  the  tortoise-shell  handle,  and  al- 
most immediately  a  drop  of  red  blood  hung  upon 
a  small  forefinger.  But  as  the  wound  was  not 
very  painful,  it  was  rather  agreeable  to  have  the 


70  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

court-plaster  cut ;  and  the  patch  upon  her  hand 
added  to  her  birthday  elegance. 

Ernest  had  commissioned  his  mother  to  buy 
a  sheet  of  paper  dolls,  and  was  not  above  help- 
ing his  sister  cut  out  their  remarkable  ward- 
robes ;  but  as  he  insisted  upon  lying  on  his  back 
while  he  flourished  the  scissors  he  did  not  do 
his  work  very  neatly.  Hilda  trembled  for  her 
German  countess's  bonnets,  and  Mrs.  Craig  for 
her  son's  eyes. 

It  was  at  lunch-time  that  the  great  surprise 
of  the  day  occurred.  They  were  all  gathered 
about  the  table  when  the  door-bell  rang ;  and 
they  did  not  know  how  noisily  they  had  been 
chattering  until  the  unexpected  sound  warned 
them  that  a  stranger  was  near.  In  the  hush 
which  the  shock  of  the  discovery  dropped 
upon  the  group,  a  footstep  became  audible  in 
the  hall — a  slow,  cautious  footstep.  Evidently 
some  one  was  trying  to  steal  upon  them  with- 
out warning;  but  who  could  it  be? 

The  door  was  thrown  open  with  a  force 
which  caused  it  to  strike  against  the  wall,  and 
the  twelve  staring  eyes  of  the  astonished  family 
beheld  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  a 
weather-browned  face  and  a  merry  smile.  He 
stood  still  upon  the  threshold,  apparently  wait- 
ing for  an  invitation  to  enter ;  and  a  flush  of 
embarrassment  began  to  burn  on  his  bronzed 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  A  USTRALIA.  7 1 

cheek  when  he  saw  only  amazement  on  faces 
which  he  had  hoped  would  beam  with  wel- 
come. 

Suddenly  Blanche  sprang  from  her  chair 
and  cried  out : 

"  Mamma  Craig,  do  n't  you  know  Uncle 
Gilbert?" 

Mr.  Craig  upset  a  glass  of  water,  and  Archer 
jumped  up  so  heedlessly  that  his  chair  fell  back- 
ward upon  the  carpet,  but  neither  of  them 
reached  the  intruder  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Craig,  who 
glided  noiselessly  from  her  place  and  lay  in  the 
eager  arms  of  her  only  brother. 

"O,  Gilbert!"  she  said,  her  eyes  overflowing 
with  happy  tears,  "  to  think  that  you  should 
have  come  upon  me  so  suddenly  that  I  didn't 
know  you!  To  think  that  there  could  be  any 
circumstances  under  which  I  should  not  know 
you,  when  I  have  been  waiting  and  longing  for 
you  all  these  years." 

"  I — I  was  beginning  to  think  it  was  Uncle 
Gilbert,"  observed  Archer.  His  eyes  were 
nearly  as  large  and  round  as  Hilda's  doll-plates ; 
and  he  stood  at  his  uncle's  side  with  his  napkin- 
ring  in  one  hand  and  a  buttered  slice  of  bread 
in  the  other. 

"  But  you  did  n't  think  best  to  mention  your 
suspicion,"  interposed  the  sarcastic  Blanche, 
who  had  resumed  her  seat  and  looked  quite 


72  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

calm  and  undisturbed.  "What  praiseworthy 
reserve!  Now  I  spoke  as  soon  as  I  thought." 

44  Yes,  Blanche  may  claim  to  be  the  first  to 
recognize  you,"  said  her  radiant  mother,  lead- 
ing her  brother  to  the  place  which  had  speedily 
been  prepared  for  him  at  table.  "How  did  you 
do  it,  dear,  when  he  has  changed  so  much  ? 
And  you  were  only  a  child  when  he  went 
away." 

u  O,  I  'in  not  likely  to  forget  Uncle  Gilbert," 
declared  Blanche,  with  a  shrug  of  her  slight 
shoulders.  "  I  've  had  too  many  good  times 
teasing  him.  He  was  the  easiest  person  to 
tease  that  ever  I  saw.  I  do  n't  believe  he  has 
forgotten  or  forgiven  me,  either." 

Uncle  Gilbert  smiled  rather  uneasily,  and 
looked  at  the  speaker  across  a  dish  of  stewed 
apricots.  He  saw  a  thin  and  self-possessed  young 
lady  in  a  neatly-fitting  crimson  dress.  She  had 
a  sharp  nose,  and  straight,  heavy,  black  eye- 
brows ;  her  dark  hair  was  braided  and  coiled 
very  tightly,  and  a  narrow  velvet  ribbon  was 
bound  over  the  crown  of  her  head.  Although 
she  seemed  to  be  on  easy  terms  with  him,  he 
did  not  feel  acquainted  with  her ;  yet  she 
vaguely  reminded  him  of  an  equally  thin  and 
sharp-nosed  child,  who  had  caused  him  a  great 
deal  of  annoyance  and  perplexity  in  years  that 
were  past. 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  73 

Like  many  shy  and  reserved  young  men, 
Gilbert  Pitcher  had  always  been  timid  in  the 
company  of  children.  He  found  them  incon- 
veniently quick  to  see  what  was  not  intended 
for  their  eyes,  and  with  a  merciless  habit  of  say- 
ing exactly  what  one  did  not  wish  them  to  say, 
and  precisely  at  the  time  when  silence  was  most 
desirable.  Blanche  had  been  a  quick-witted, 
superficially  brilliant  child — not  one  whom  it 
was  easy  to  pet  and  love.  Now,  as  he  watched 
the  careless  movements  of  the  young  lady  oppo- 
site, he  traced  more  and  more  plainly  her  like- 
ness to  the  little  girl  he  had  left  when  he  sailed 
to  Australia  eight  years  before.  The  very 
color  of  her  dress  reminded  him  of  a  red  frock, 
braided  in  black,  worn  by  her  upon  the  day 
when  she  corrected  his  pronunciation  of  the 
word  piano,  in  the  presence  of  some  visiting 
ladies.  He  had  never  enjoyed  her  society  after 
that  day. 

Blanche  was  growing  tired  of  being  looked 
at  so  earnestly.  She  turned  her  unwavering 
eyes  upon  him  in  such  a  determined  manner 
that  his  gaze  faltered  and  fell. 

"Have  you  come  home  to  stay?"  she  ques- 
tioned, placidly. 

"  My  plans  do  not  reach  very  far  into  the 
future,"  her  uncle  answered.  "I  have  work 
enough  to  do  to  keep  me  in  this  country  at  least 


74  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

a  year,  although  it  is  not  likely  to  be  severe  or 
continuous.  I  expect  to  have  a  good  deal  of 
spare  time  on  my  hands,"  he  added,  smiling  at 
his  sister. 

"O,  don't  go  so  far  away  again!"  she 
pleaded.  Since  his  entrance  she  had  scarcely 
taken  her  eyes  from  his  face.  A  flood  of  tender 
memories  made  eating  and  speaking  alike  well- 
nigh  impossible;  for  her  brother's  abandon- 
ment of  his  native  land  had  been  preceded  by 
their  mother's  death,  and  the  breaking  up  of  the 
old  home.  Gilbert  had  never  imagined  existence 
without  his  mother.  She  was  in  all  his  plans. 
Her  death  was  a  blow  as  unexpected  as  if  he 
had  thought  her  life  could  end  only  with  his 
own.  For  some  years  they  had  dwelt  alone  to- 
gether under  the  roof  which  had  sheltered  him 
from  early  childhood.  After  she  left  him  he 
rented  the  house  and  sailed  away.  No  foreign 
country  could  be  half  so  strange  a  place  as 
that  familiar  town  when  her  form  had  vanished 
from  its  streets. 

"I  wish  he'd  go  again  and  take  me  with 
him,"  volunteered  a  bluff  voice  under  Mr. 
Pitcher's  elbow.  That  gentleman  started,  and 
turned  to  look  at  the  boy  beside  him,  over 
whose  noble  forehead  a  short  lock  of  hair  was 
bristling  fiercely. 

"Is  it  possible  that  this  is  Ernest?" 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  75 

"  That  is  Ernest,  and  there  is  Hilda,"  said 
their  mother,  enjoying  his  surprise. 

Now  the  shameful  confession  must  be  made 
that  Uncle  Gilbert  had  not  noticed  Hilda  at  all. 
Excuse  may  be  found  in  the  embarrassment 
which  Blanche  had  caused  him.  He  gazed 
dreamily  at  the  blushing  little  face  with  its  en- 
gaging expression  of  shy  pleasure,  and  tried  to 
believe  that  he  had  never  seen  it  before. 
k  "  Hilda?  What,  the  baby  ?" 

"  Not  very  much  of  a  baby  any  longer,  are 
you,  dear?"  said  Mr.  Craig.  "  This  is  her 
birthday,  Gilbert,  and  she  is  nine  years  old. 
You  are  just  in  time  to  help  her  celebrate  her 
anniversary." 

Hilda  smiled  at  her  uncle  as  if  she  were 
very  glad  that  he  happened  to  arrive  on  that 
particular  day ;  and  he  suddenly  remembered 
that  deep  down  in  his  trunk  lay  a  large  and 
handsome  doll,  bought  during  the  week  which 
he  had  spent  in  London.  It  was  not  with  any 
thought  of  Hilda  that  the  purchase  had  been 
made.  Why  should  he  spend  so  much  money, 
and  buy  so  brittle  a  toy  for  one  whom  he  recol- 
lected only  as  a  clear-eyed  infant,  not  able  to 
articulate  his  name  ?  No ;  he  blushed  to  re- 
member that  he  had  actually  expected  to  give 
the  doll  to  Blanche — to  that  very  grown-up 
young  lady.  It  almost  took  his  breath  away  to 


76  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

imagine  how  offended  she  would  be  if  he  should 
carry  out  his  intention. 

But  it  was  just  the  thing  for  a  birthday  gift 
to  Hilda.  As  soon  as  he  thought  of  it,  he  was 
as  eager  as  a  child  for  the  arrival  of  his  trunks, 
for  he  wanted  very  much  to  see  the  doll  in  the 
delicate  hands  of  his  youngest  niece.  There 
was  something  about  that  little  girl  which  at- 
tracted him  more  than  children  were  wont  to 
do  ;  and  he  was  glad  to  find  that,  as  is  fortu- 
nately often  the  case,  this  liking  received  an 
immediate  return.  The  bashful  man  and  the 
timid  child  were  the  best  of  friends  before  an 
hour  had  passed  by.  Hilda  sat  on  his  knee  be- 
side the  library  window,  and  Ernest  drew  a 
chair  close  to  them ;  two  prattling  tongues  were 
loosed  upon  the  contented  stranger. 

"I  can  show  you  all  my  presents  without 
getting  down,"  said  Hilda.  "  There  's  my  dishes 
and  my  doyly-box  over  on  the  book-shelves,  out- 
side the  glass  door ;  and  my  book 's  on  the 
lounge,  and  the  paper  dolls  are  on  the  table.  O, 
but  the  candy  Gertie  sent  is  up-stairs.  Do  you 
know  Gertie,  Uncle  Gilbert?" 

"  Why,  really  I  'm  afraid  I  do  n't." 

"Never  mind,"  she  said,  consolingly.  "/ 
did  n't  know  her  till  two  weeks  ago ;  but  I  wish 
I  had.  I  just  believe  you  '11  like  her  better  than 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  77 

anybody  else — outside  your  own  family,  I 
mean." 

"  Shall  I  like  her  better  than  you  ?"  asked 
Uncle  Gilbert,  with  a  kiss.  It  was  really  re- 
markable how  fond  of  this  child  he  already  felt. 
Perhaps  it  was  partly  because  she  was  so  pretty, 
yet  surely  no  one  ever  had  a  sweeter  face  nor 
gentler  manners. 

Hilda  laughed  shyly.  She  did  not  know 
how  to  answer  this  question ;  besides  it  was 
Ernest's  turn  to  talk. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  the  show  to-night, 
Uncle  Gilbert?"  he  asked.  "It  is  to  be  in 
the  dining-room — no  admission  except  on  in- 
vitation." 

"  If  anybody  will  invite  me,  I  shall  most  cer- 
tainly be  there.  What  kind  of  a  show  is  it  ?  A 
menagerie  ?" 

"  O,  Uncle  Gilbert !"  cried  Hilda,  in  a  little 
laughing  scream. 

"  No,  sir ;  it  is  n't.  Come  on  out  into  the  hall 
and  see,"  said  Ernest,  carefully  picking  up  his 
injured  arm,  as  he  always  did  when  he  remem- 
bered it. 

Mr.  Pitcher  took  Hilda's  hand  and  followed 
his  nephew,  to  gaze  upon  a  great  white  placard 
which  obs?ured  the  mirror  in  the  hat-rack.  A 
painstaking  hand  had  covered  a  sheet  of  fools- 


78  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

cap  with  large  black  letters  :  "  Professor  West's 
Great  Legerdemain  Entertainment :  at  7-3° 
P.  M." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  the  uncle,  when  Ernest 
had  read  this  aloud,  and  Hilda  had  repeated  it. 
"  That  must  be  a  very  interesting  exhibition. 
And  who  is  Professor  West?  A  friend  of 
yours?" 

"  And  yours  too,"  chuckled  Ernest. 

"It's  Archer,  Uncle  Gilbert;  it's  our  Ar- 
cher," declared  Hilda,  in  suppressed  tones,  jerk- 
ing his  arm  to  draw  his  head  downward.  "O, 
I  want  to  ask  him — you  '11  wait  for  me  won't 
you?"  And,  pausing  until  her  bewildered  rel- 
ative had  nodded  an  assent,  she  disappeared 
through  the  doorway. 

In  about  half  a  minute  she  was  back  again, 
flushed  and  radiant. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  him  if  I  might  tell  you 
about  his  name.  He  said  I  mustn't  let  any- 
body know,  but  I  thought  he  would  n't  mind 
you,  and  he  says  of  course  he  does  n't.  There — 
Professor  West!  It  is  part  of  his  own  real 
middle  name.  You  did  n't  know  that,  did  you  ? 
Archer  Westbrook  Craig." 

"  Do  you  see  ?  West — West^rc*^,"  added 
Ernest,  kindly  seeking  to  make  the  explanation 
clear. 

"  I   see.     I   shall  be    deeply  interested.     Do 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  79 

you  think  Professor  West  will  permit  me  to  be 
present?" 

"  O,  he  wants  you  ever  so  much.  Here 
come  your  trunks,  Uncle  Gilbert." 

The  arrival  broke  up  the  party,  and  when 
Hilda  next  saw  her  uncle  it  was  half  an  hour 
later.  She  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  at  her 
mother's  side  ;  the  little,  brown  head  rested  on 
Mrs.  Craig's  knee,  and  the  soft  eyes  were  partly 
closed.  They  were  not  talking ;  but  the  child, 
while  she  felt  a  gentle  hand  stroking  her  brow, 
and  wandering  lovingly  among  her  ringlets,  was 
experiencing  that  sweet,  uncompreheuded  joy 
which  comes  occasionally  in  childhood,  and  fixes 
itself  in  the  memory.  Years  after  Hilda  would 
think  of  that  hour,  remembering  its  strange, 
quiet  happiness,  and  the  tender  touches  on  her 
silky  hair. 

Uncle  Gilbert  came  shyly  into  the  room, 
wearing  an  expression  of  mingled  expectation 
and  timidity.  Through  her  half-shut  eyes  Hilda 
beheld  his  ruddy  face,  and  thought  he  looked 
"  queer,"  before  she  noticed  that  he  was  carry- 
ing something  which  rose  above  his  shoulder — 
something  white,  and  gleaming,  and  beautiful. 
Then  she  sat  up  and  gazed,  with  a  fast-beating 
heart,  at  the  loveliest  doll  she  had  ever  seen. 

It  resembled  a  little  girl  about  five  years  old  ; 
eyes  like  the  sky  on  a  summer  evening,  and 


8o  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

cheeks  with  the  pink  of  a  sunset  cloud.  A  cloak 
of  white  cashmere,  delicately  embroidered,  hung 
from  her  shoulders  to  her  pearly  slippers;  from 
a  fluffy  cap  soft,  yellow  ringlets  escaped  to  stray 
over  her  neck,  and  a  heap  of  tiny  curls  lay 
lightly  on  her  forehead  beneath  a  bow  of  ivory 
silk.  There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence — 
then  this  wonderful  apparition  lay  in  two  slen- 
der, trembling  arms. 

"O,  what!  Uncle  Gilbert?     Did  you—" 

"I  thought  you  weren't  too  old  to  care  for 
a  doll,"  said  the  uncle,  rubbing  his  hands  in  the 
greatness  of  his  satisfaction. 

"  But  is  it  truly  for  me  ?  O,  I  never  saw 
such  lovely  curls  and  such  a  beautiful  cloak! 
Uncle  Gilbert !" 

The  doll  went  softly  but  suddenly  into  Mrs. 
Craig's  lap,  for  Hilda  must  have  both  hands 
free  to  hang  about  her  uncle's  neck.  I  would 
not  like  to  be  compelled  to  give  a  positive  opin- 
ion as  to  which  of  these  two  felt  most  delight. 
A  child  can  be  so  very,  very  happy  ;  a  rose-glow 
of  gladness  can  rise  suddenly  above  its  horizon, 
and  spread  in  an  instant  over  all  the  dark  and 
dingy  hues  that  even  in  such  a  youthful  life 
must  often  appear.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  a  grown  person  who 
dearly  loves  a  little  child  is  fuller  of  bliss  than 
any  child  can  be. 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  81 

Blanche  had  been  reading  by  the  window  ; 
she  came  with  her  finger  in  her  book  to  learn 
the  cause  of  so  much  excitement.  I  do  not 
know  where  Ernest  had  been,  but  he  was  on 
the  spot  before  his  more  slowly-moving  sister. 

"O, the  darling,  precious,  sweet  little  thing!" 
cried  Blanche,  amazing  her  uncle  by  falling  into 
an  unexpected  rapture.  He  had  not  imagined 
that  such  a  self-controlled  personage  would  be- 
stow more  approval  upon  the  toy  than  could  be 
expressed  in  a  cold  word.  But  that  shows  how 
little  Mr.  Pitcher  understood  human  nature.  A 
girl  of  sixteen  is  sure  to  be  capable  of  a  great 
deal  of  enthusiasm,  even  if,  as  is  sometimes  the 
case,  she  neither  shows  nor  feels  it  when  older 
people  expect  to  call  it  forth. 

A  pretty  doll  in  a  store-window  could  make 
Blanche  stop  in  the  winter  air  until  her  teeth 
chattered  and  her  feet  grew  numb.  She  said 
quite  openly  that  she  did  not  believe  she  could 
ever  have  laid  aside  her  own  playthings  if 
Hilda's  had  not  remained  for  her  consolation. 
This  partiality  was  of  great  benefit  to  the 
younger  sister ;  it  kept  her  dolls'  wardrobe  well 
supplied.  The  numerous  Susies  dressed  in  the 
height  of  style,  for  Blanche  liked  to  sew  for  them ; 
her  eyes  were  quick  to  see,  and  her  needle  ready 
to  follow  her  will.  Having  such  a  capable  and 
willing  seamstress  always  at  hand,  Hilda  felt  no 

6 


82  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

need  to  learn  to  sew,  and  as  a  consequence  she 
never  had  learned.  Both  her  mother  and  sister 
were  shocked  when  they  remembered  her  ig- 
norance ;  and  she  was  beginning  to  feel  that 
the  long-threatened  lessons  could  not  be  much 
longer  delayed. 

"  Look  at  those  cunning  little  hands,  almost 
exactly  like  a  real  baby's!"  raved  the  enthusias- 
tic Miss  Craig.  "  Hilda,  I  '11  knit  you  the  cutest 
pair  of  silk  mittens." 

"  O  yes,  Blanche.     Blue  or  pink?" 

"  White,  child.  Nothing  else  would  be  half 
so  pretty.  But  I  've  got  a  lovely  piece  of  sal- 
mon-colored cashmere  that  will  make  her  a 
cloak  for  every  day;  this  will  soil  so  easily. 
Uncle  Gilbert,  you  certainly  have  a  great  deal 
of  taste,  or  else  the  dolls  in  London  are  all 
beauties.  Which  is  the  truth  ?" 

The  bright,  saucy  smile  that  gleamed  from 
beneath  the  girl's  dark  brows  lighted  up  her 
plain  features  and  made  her  much  prettier. 

"  Such  a  handsome  doll  must  not  be  without 
a  name,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  "  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  Uncle  Gilbert  ought  to  choose  it.  What 
do  the  rest  of  you  think?" 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  Mr.  Pitcher,  fright- 
ened by  the  suggestion ;  "I  do  n't  know  any- 
thing about  dolls.  Hilda  can  think  of  a  pretty 
name,  I  am  sure.  Can't  you,  Hilda?" 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  83 

The  little  girl  glanced  shyly  up  and  nodded. 
Her  lips  were  just  opening  when  Blanche 
cried  out: 

"Susy,  I  suppose!"  and  went  into  a  gale  of 
laughter  which  seemed  to  her  uncle  absolutely 
without  provocation. 

u  Ah,  pshaw,  Hilda !"  broke  in  Ernest,  who 
had  been  standing  aloof,  his  one  unhampered 
hand  thrust  into  his  pocket,  "  do  give  us  a 
change.  You've  got  a  dozen  Susies  now,  at  the 
least  calculation." 

The  partial  uncle  glared  at  his  elder  niece, 
and  then  at  his  nephew.  The  mirth  of  the  one 
and  the  disgust  of  the  other,  were  explained  to 
him  by  Ernest's  last  sentence,  but  by  no  means 
made  to  appear  reasonable.  If  Hilda  chose  to 
bestow  the  same  name  upon  every  doll  in  her 
possession,  what  did  that  signify  to  any  one 
else?  Was  it  any  reason  for  making  her  un- 
happy? The  darling's  drooping  eyelids  were 
heavy  with  hanging  tears. 

Blanche  met  his  indignant  look  with  a  tran- 
quil smile. 

"  If  I  only  dared,"  she  began,  in  sugary  ac- 
cents, "  I  should  like  to  suggest  a  pleasing  sub- 
stitute for  the  somewhat  time-worn  appellation 
which  my  sister  threatens  to  bestow.  Why  not 
call  the  doll  Gilbertina,  my  dear,  and  pay  a  very 
pretty  compliment  to  your  benefactor?" 


84  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Now  I  think  that  is  the  very  thing,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Craig.  "  It  is  new  and  striking. 
I  don't  believe  any  of  your  friends  own  a  Gil- 
bertina.  Besides,  it  would  be  ever  so  nice  to 
name  her  for  your  uncle,  wouldn't  it?" 

"  Well,"  agreed  Hilda,  faintly. 
'  "I  am  sure  I  am  flattered,"  said  Mr.  Pitcher, 

V 

with  a  large  smile  under  his  golden-brown  mus- 
tache; "  yet  I  feel  that  I  am  assuming  a  terri- 
ble responsibility.  What  are  my  duties  to- 
ward a  namesake,  Blanche  ?" 

"  You  must  give  her  a  new  dress  every 
year,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

"  And  a  watch  and  chain  when  she's  twenty- 
one,"  added  Ernest. 

Every  one  was  merry  excepting  Hilda.  There 
was  a  stiff  little  smile  on  her  lips,  but  her 
eyes  were  downcast  and  her  face  did  not  look 
glad. 

"  There  goes  the  bell !"  shouted  Ernest.  "  It 's 
Fred  and  Annie,  I  guess.  They  said  they  were 
coming  in." 

Attempting  to  leave  the  room  in  the  heed- 
less manner  to  which  he  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed, he  ran  against  the  partly  closed  door, 
and  the  bandaged  arm  met  the  unyielding  knob 
a  great  deal  more  hastily  than  it  should  have 
met  anything  so  hard. 

"  Ow  !"  ejaculated  the  boy,  pausing  scarcely 


AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  AUSTRALIA.  85 

an  instant,  although  the  pain  was  shooting  to 
his  finger-tips.  It  was,  to  his  mind,  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should  reach  the  head  of  the 
staircase  before  Rose  opened  the  hall-door. 

"Hello,  Fred!"  cried  the  voice  of  one  in- 
visible to  young  Mr.  Tomlinson,  as  he  entered 
the  house.  Although  his  eyes  discerned  noth- 
ing of  the  speaker,  he  was  not  taken  by  sur- 
prise. He  had  hung  over  a  balustrade  almost 
every  day  for  years. 

"  Yes,  it 's  they,"  reported  Ernest,  hurrying 
back  into  the  room.  u  Come  on,  Hilda  ;' Annie's 
down-stairs." 

u  Take  Gilbertina,"  and  Blanche  gave  the 
smiling,  rosy  countenance  a  loving  pat,  as  if 
she  were  really  reluctant  to  let  it  leave  her  arm. 
"  I  '11  look  in  the  piece-bags  and  make  her  some 
things  right  away." 

"  Then  you  '11  need  her,  won't  you  ?"  asked 
Hilda,  her  hand  still  hanging  at  her  side.  "  I  '11 
just  let  you  keep  her,  Blanche;  she  might  get 
hurt  if  I  took  her  down-stairs." 

"Why,  they  want  to  see  your  birthday  pres- 
ents ;  that  what 's  they  said  they  were  coming 
for,"  Ernest  reminded  his  sister.  "  And  you  'd 
better  hurry  down,"  he  added,  beginning  his 
clattering  descent  to  the  parlor. 

"  O,  then  you  must  certainly  let  them  see 
Gilbertina,"  said  Mrs.  Craig.  "  The  boys  will 


86  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

not  be  rough  with  such  a  beautiful  creature,  I 
am  sure." 

"  Yes,  do  n't  be  afraid  to  play  with  your  doll," 
entreated  Uncle  Gilbert.  "  She  's  meant  for 
that,  and  not  for  show.  A  toy  that  is  too  fine 
to  be  played  with,  ought  not  to  be  made,  and  it 
never  would  be  sold  if  everybody  thought  as 
I  do." 

Gilbertina  went  slowly  out  of  the  room,  her 
creamy  cloak  flowing  over  Hilda's  white  apron. 
The  mother  noticed  that  the  child  moved  re- 
luctantly, and  that  the  sparkle  was  gone  from 
her  eyes ;  but  she  only  thought  that  Hilda  was 
not  in  the  mood  for  seeing'  visitors,  and  would 
have  been  better  pleased  if  her  little  friends  had 
staid  at  home. 


Chapter  V. 

CANDY  AND  QUARRELING. 

BUT  Mrs.  Craig  was  mistaken.  It  was  no 
disinclination  to  society  which  made  the 
little  feet  linger  on  almost  every  step  of  the 
long  flight.  Although  Annie  was  not  always  in 
a  pleasant  mood,  she  could  be  a  very  agreeable 
playmate.  Moreover,  she  was  the  only  little 
girl  in  Hawthorn  with  whom  Hilda  had,  as  yet, 
become  acquainted ;  and  children  are  lonely 
without  companions  of  their  own  age. 

Can  you  guess  where  the  trouble  lay?  No- 
where else  than  in  the  name  which  another  had 
chosen  for  the  new  doll.  Not  one  of  the  com- 
pany which  had  made  merry  over  Blanche's 
suggestion  had  any  idea  that  every  smile  of 
theirs  pricked  into  the  sensitive  little  heart 
which  all  wished  should  be  perfectly  happy, 
especially  on  this  day.  She  never  doubted  that 
they  were  making  fun  of  the  name ;  that  by  its 

87 


88  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

means  not  only  her  precious  doll,  but  also  her- 
self, would  become  a  laughing-stock  to  her 
friends. 

Perhaps  you  think  she  was  very  silly.  Well, 
children  whose  years  number  no  more  than  nine 
are  not  often  noted  for  wisdom.  A  great  many 
little  girls  may  wonder  why  she  did  not  speak  up 
at  once;  say  that  she  thought  Gilbertina  a  hid- 
eous name,  and  that  she  could  not,  for  an  in- 
stant, consider  its  acceptance.  People  differ 
very  much,  even  when  they  are  of  equal  age ; 
and  you  will  never  understand  my  Hilda  if  you 
do  not  bear  in  mind  that  her  nature  was  timid 
and  dependent.  For  one  thing,  she  lacked  con- 
fidence in  herself;  for  another,  she  was  exceed- 
ingly careful  not  to  hurt  other  people's  feelings ; 
and  because  she  had  only  a  child's  standard  to 
measure  by,  she  sometimes  suffered  a  good  deal 
of  mental  distress,  which  an  older  person  could 
instantly  have  relieved.  Mrs.  Craig  was  aware 
of  this  characteristic — you  remember  how  she 
had  spoken  to  Hilda  when  the  invalid  traveler 
came  to  light  out  of  the  silver  box — but  not 
even  her  discerning  watchfulness  could  follow 
the  workings  of  this  odd  little  mind. 

As  soon  as  Blanche  had  spoken,  and  her 
mother  replied,  Hilda  considered  it  settled 
that  the  doll  must  be  named  Gilbertina.  She 
must  wear  that  horrifying  polysyllable  wherever 


CANDY  AND  QUARRELING.  89 

she  went,  like  a  badge  which  could  not  fail  to 
draw  attention  and  awaken  scorn.  It  was  not 
only  that  to  decline  it  would  be  a  rudeness 
toward  her  kind  uncle,  it  might  also  be  a  grief 
to  her  mother,  who  held  him  so  dear.  This  is 
the  way  it  seemed  to  little  Hilda,  and  the  possi- 
bility that  any  course  of  action  could  give  pain 
to  her  mother  was  a  reason  for  deciding  against 
it  without  an  instant's  delay. 

Ernest  was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  waiting 
very  impatiently. 

"  Why  do  n't  you  walk  faster  ?  You  crawl 
like  a  snail.  I've  got  all  your  things  here;  but  I 
did  n't  take  them  in  because  I  knew  you  'd  want 
to  show  them  yourself.  Did  you  bring  your 
candy?" 

"No,  I  forgot;  but  I  can  go  up  and  get  it 
after  I  've  been  in.  Come  on,  if  you  're  ready," 
and  Hilda  walked  into  the  parlor  as  a  person 
with  a  tormenting  tooth  might  enter  a  dentist's 
office. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Annie?  How  do  you  do, 
Fred?" 

Annie  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  beings 
who  can  never  quite  forget  themselves.  Such 
people  need  our  pity,  for  they  miss  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure.  Their  admiration  of  everything 
desirable  is  mixed  with  regret  because  they 
can  not  have  it  for  their  own.  This  is  not  only 


90  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

wrong,  but  also  most  absurd,  as  any  child  can 
see,  who  will  give  it  a  moment's  thought.  Sup- 
pose we  might  have  all  that  is  worth  having, 
what  could  we  possibly  do  with  our  splendid 
possessions?  We  should  have  more  toys  than 
we  could  play  with ;  more  books  than  we  could 
read  ;  more  pictures  than  we  could  look  at ; 
more  friends  than  we  could  visit.  Does  it  not 
make  your  head  swim  to  imagine  such  a  state 
of  affairs  ? 

Now  this  poor,  jealous  Annie  had  so  much 
curiosity  that  she  could  not  rest  until  she  had 
seen  her  friend's  birthday  presents ;  yet  she 
knew  in  her  foolish  little  heart  that  she  was 
going  to  be  unhappy  if  she  found  them  very 
nice.  So,  partly  to  keep  up  her  spirits,  and 
partly  to  make  an  impression  on  Hilda,  she  had 
slipped  on  her  finger  a  very  pretty  ring  set  with 
a  ruby  garnet.  It  was  much  too  large,  and  she 
had  been  forbidden  to  wear  it  until  she  had 
grown  enough  to  do  so  with  safety  ;  but,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  this  was  not  the  first  time  that  she 
had  taken  it  slyly  from  its  case. 

"  Is  that  a  new  doll  ?"  inquired  the  young 
lady  visitor,  pointing  with  the  jeweled  finger. 

"  Yes  ;  my  birthday  gift  from  Uncle  Gilbert. 
Do  n't  you  think  her  slippers  are  just  as  sweet 
as  they  can  be  ?"  asked  Hilda,  hurrying  to  speak 
of  something  with  which  no  fault  could  be 


CA ND  Y  AND  Q UARRELINC.  9 1 

found,  and  failing  to  catch  the  sparkle  of  the 
very  prominent  red  stone. 

"  Who  's  Uncle  Gilbert  ?"  asked  Annie,  with 
a  tolerant  smile. 

At  this  moment  Ernestdiverted  their  thoughts 
by  dropping  the  greater  part  of  his  load,  and 
only  saving  the  box  of  dishes  by  means  of  a 
wild  and  most  ungraceful  leap.  Dainty  bits  of 
linen  fluttered  about  him  like  snowflakes.  Then, 
as  if  by  magic,  the  storm  changed  to  a  rain  of 
colored  fragments  of  paper,  under  which  a  boy 
lay  groaning  on  the  floor,  his  mouth  drawn  in  a 
grimace  of  pain  almost  under  his  left  ear. 

"  O,  Ernest !  O,  my  things !  O,  Ernest,  your 
elbow's  going  right  into  my  blue  silk  box!'' 
screamed  Hilda,  too  frightened  about  her  trea- 
sures to  pity  her  writhing  brother. 

"Take  your  old  box!"  shouted  the  sufferer, 
abruptly  ceasing  to  groan,  and  sending  the 
fragile  azure  case  spinning  to  its  owner's  feet. 
"  Ain't  you  ashamed  to  talk  about  your  old 
things  when  your  brother 's  nearly  killed  ? 
Your  dishes  have  broken  my  arm  over  again ! 
I  feel  as  if  I  'd  like  to  step  on  them  !"  And  he 
glared  so  ferociously  in  their  direction  that  Hilda 
sprang  hastily  over  his  recumbent  legs  to  bring 
the  innocent  china  from  the  neighborhood  of 
feet  so  destructively  inclined. 

"  But  I  am  sorry,  Ernest,"  she  said,  timidly, 


92  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

doubtful  what  change  his  mood  would  next  un- 
dergo. It  was  a  little  difficult  to  know  how  this 
variable  youth  liked  to  be  treated ;  that  which 
softened  his  auger  on  one  occasion  might  only 
increase  it  on  the  next.  "  I  am,  truly,  whether 
you  believe  it  or  not." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  help  carry  your  things, 
then  ?"  he  demanded,  sitting  up  and  sulkily  nurs- 
ing his  wounded  limb.  "  You  might  have 
known  I  could  n't  carry  them  all  when  I  've 
only  one  arm  to  do  it  with.  O  my,  but  this 
does  hurt !"  he  added,  as  an  irritating  twinge  re- 
minded him  what  an  ill-used  mortal  he  was. 

All  this  time  Fred  had  been  collecting  the 
scattered  treasures,  and  Gilbertina  had  been 
smiling  over  Hilda's  shoulder  straight  into  An- 
nie's disapproving  countenance.  It  is  not  in 
little  girl  nature  to  resist  such  a  look  from  a 
beautiful  doll ;  so,  almost  before  she  knew  it, 
Annie  had  her  hands  on  the  softly  clad  shoul- 
ders and  was  gently  drawing  the  white  figure 
from  Hilda's  grasp. 

"Can't  I  hold  her  a  little  while?" 

Her  request  was  granted  at  once.  Ernest 
was  in  a  chair  by  this  time,  quite  recovered 
from  his  injuries  and  beginning  to  be  cheerful 
again.  It  seemed  possible  that  the  visit  might 
turn  out  pleasantly  after  all. 

"  Did  your  uncle  buy  the  doll  in  Australia?'' 


CANDY  AND  QUARRELING.  93 

inquired  Annie,  stroking  with  soft,  admiring 
touches  the  lace  about  the  pretty  puppet's  neck. 

"Rather,"  sneered  Fred.  "Annie  supposes, 
Ernest,  that  Australia  is  as  full  of  stores  as  New 
York.  What  would  you  think,  miss,  of  just 
nothing  but  hills  and  fields  and  the  huts  that 
the  gold-diggers  live  in?  Didn't  know  they 
found  gold  in  Australia,  did  you  ?" 

Here  Ernest  took  up  the  cudgel  of  contempt 
and  rushed  against  him,  not  from  any  chivalrous 
wish  to  defend  a  lady,  but  for  the  ever-present 
love  of  combat. 

"  You  need  n't  think  you  know  all  about  it. 
My  uncle  was  there  eight  years,  and  he  did  n't 
dig  a  grain  of  gold.  He  went  after  seeds  or 
trees  or  something." 

Hilda  looked  uncomfortable.  Why  could  n't 
the  boys  talk  pleasantly,  and  not  spoil  her  birth- 
day with  their  quarrelsome  tongues?  She  had 
never  inquired  how  Uncle  Gilbert  occupied  him- 
self during  his  foreign  sojourn,  but  she  usually 
pictured  him  sitting  upon  a  rock  with  kanga- 
roos hopping  over  his  feet. 

"Let's  have  some  candy,"  she  suggested. 

Not  one  of  her  hearers  offered  even  the 
mildest  objection  ;  on  the  contrary,  their  faces 
betrayed  more  eagerness  than  they  would  have 
deemed  it  polite  to  express  in  words.  The 
candy  effected  an  instant  increase  in  sociability  ; 


94  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

the  chairs  were  drawn  into  such  a  small  circle 
that  there  was  some  knocking  together  of  knees. 
Fred  lifted  the  lid  from  the  box,  and,  after  a 
close  inspection,  pronounced  the  candy  to  be 
Creamer's  Best,  following  this  statement  with 
the  information  that  it  cost  seventy-five  cents  a 
pound.  Annie  then  wanted  to  know  how  many 
pieces  there  were  in  a  pound,  and  Hilda  emptied 
the  box  in'o  her  lap  with  the  intention  of 
counting.  She  did  not  count,  however,  because 
she  could  not  recollect  how  many  pieces  had  al- 
ready been  eaten  ;  but  both  girls  made  the  firm 
resolution  to  number  carefully  the  contents  of 
the  next  pound-box  of  candy  which  came  into 
their  hands. 

Conversation  flourished  splendidly,  sweetened 
by  chocolate  mysteries  and  cream-caramels. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  start  to  school?" 
inquired  Annie.  "There's  a  girl  that  asks  me 
every  day.  She  knows  somebody  in  Chicago, 
and  she  wants  to  find  out  if  you  know  her  too." 

"I  guess  I  don't,"  returned  Hilda,  with  a  re- 
gretful shake  of  the  head.  "I  do  n't  remember 
anybody  in  Chicago  that  knew  anybody  here. 
Tell  me  something  about  your  school.  Have 
you  got  a  nice  teacher?" 

"  No,  I  do  n't  like  him  ;  he  has  pets,"  was 
the  energetic  reply;  and  Fred  added,  while  he 
stirred  the  candy  with  his  fingers,  in  search  of 


CANDY  AND  QUARRELING.  95 

another  creamed  walnut:  "You're  just  right, 
he  has,  Ernest.  There  's  a  fellow  at  school  that 
would  n't  get  half  as  good  marks  as  I,  and  he 
gets  a  great  deal  better  because  he  's  Mr.  Pe- 
terson's forty-second  cousin." 

"  I  see  you  going  off  some  mornings,"  said 
Hilda  to  Annie.  "You  go  over  the  hill,  don't 
you  ?  Will  you  show  me  the  way  when  I 
start?" 

u  Yes,  I  will.  It 's  a  short  cut,  and  you  go 
through  the  yards  of  two  girls  that  I  know. 
Shall  you  begin  to-morrow  ?" 

"No;  we  're  not  going  till  next  week.  If  it 
is  a  nice  day  I  shall  go  to  see  my  Cousin  Gertie 
to-morrow.  She  's  got  the  sore  throat,  and  she 
sent  me  this  candy  because  she  could  n't  come." 

"  Ho!"  suddenly  interjected  Fred,  "she  said 
she  lived  on  Walnut  Street,  and  yet  she  did  n't 
see  the  biggest  torchlight  parade  that  ever  went 
along.  Now,  I  'd  like  to  know  how  that  could  be." 

"Why,  Fred  Tomlinson,  she  said  she  was 
away  from  home!"  exclaimed  his  sister,  much 
shocked  by  the  implied  doubt  of  Gertie's  truth- 
fulness. Fr.ed  looked  at  her  with  one  eye  shut, 
and  began  to  whistle.  He  had  discovered, 
through  frequent  experiments,  that  nothing  irri- 
tated her  so  much  as  this  incomprehensible  an- 
swer to  her  reproofs. 

This  time  she  paid  no  attention  to  his  rude- 


96  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

ness,  but  began  to  inspect  very  carefully  the 
embroidery  upon  Gilbertina's  cloak.  She  was 
nearsighted,  yet  she  did  not  need  to  hold  her 
face  quite  so  close  to  the  work ;  her  nose  almost 
touched  it.  When  Fred's  right  eye  had  stared 
at  her  drooping  lids  for  some  moments,  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  her  lift  them  suddenly,  to  fling 
him  a  stinging  glance  of  indignation,  his  brain 
and  muscles  grew  tired.  But  he  felt  more  than 
ever  inclined  to  hurt  somebody's  feelings.  When 
a  boy  has  made  up  his  mind  to  tease,  a  single 
failure  is  not  enough  to  discourage  him. 

All  of  a  sudden  Annie's  hands  were  jerked 
violently  apart,  and  her  astonished  eyes  beheld 
the  helpless  Gilbertina  riding  up  and  down  the 
room  on  Fred's  shoulder.  He  was  trying,  with 
tolerable  success,  to  behave  like  an  untamed 
colt ;  she  was  bouncing  into  the  air  and  back 
again  to  her  insecure  seat,  in  a  manner  that  set 
her  curls  and  draperies  to  flying  wildly,  and 
gave  her  a  terrified  aspect,  very  touching  to  the 
tender  hearts  of  her  admirers. 

Both  girls  made  a  frantic  rush  upon  the 
offender,  but  he  was  too  quick  for  them.  The 
attack  only  served  to  increase  his  speed,  and  Gil- 
bertina's danger.  The  mad  gallop  continued 
about  the  room  to  the  tune  "  Marching  Through 
Georgia,"  the  whistled  strains  of  which  were  as 
loud  and  torturing  as  the  united  efforts  of  two 


CANDY  AND  QUARRELING.  97 

boys  could  effect.  Annie  stood  still,  one  hand 
laid  upon  the  piano,  her  eyes  glowing  with 
anger ;  but  Hilda  had  returned  to  her  chair,  and 
sat  as  still  and  nearly  as  white  as  if  she  were 
frozen. 

Poor  little  Hilda !  While  she  sat,  so  pale 
and  silent,  she  was  trying  hard  to  keep  her 
temper.  There  was  a  humming  in  her  head  ; 
she  was  shaking  all  over.  Every  minute  she 
expected  to  see  Gilbertina  dash  downward,  and 
hear  the  dreadful,  smashing  sound  which  would 
announce  the  destruction  of  her  dear,  beautiful 
head.  It  was  a  severe  trial,  and,  so  far,  she 
was  bearing  it  well. 

"Here  she  is!"  shouted  the  remorseless 
Fred,  stopping  his  gallop  with  a  jolt,  which 
knocked  the  unfeeling  bisque  nose  against  his 
more  sensitive  ear.  "  Looks  as  if  she  earned 
her  living  in  a  museum.  What  do  you  call  this 
beauty,  Hilda?" 

"  Gilbertina,"  volunteered  her  brother,  see- 
ing that  she  did  not  mean  to  speak.  Then  he 
laughed  an  ugly,  contemptuous  laugh,  which  it 
would  have  hurt  his  mother  to  hear,  and  added, 
with  a  foolish  swagger : 

"  We're  going  to  patent  it.'r 

"  Well,  that  is  a  name,  I  must  say,"  declared 
Annie,  and  her  tone  made  Hilda  shrink  over  the 
arm  of  her  chair. 

7 


98  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Gilbertina,  Filbertina !"  sang  Fred,  hold- 
ing the  doll  by  its  dainty,  dimpled  fingers,  and 
dancing  it  wildly  about  the  room.  The  tossing 
form,  with  its  white  cloak  blowing  like  a  snowy 
clond  over  its  head,  seemed  to  Ernest  and  Annie 
very  ridiculous  and  amusing.  They  applauded 
with  screams  of  laughter. 

"  O,  Fred  Tomlinson,  give  me  back  my  doll !" 

Hilda  did  not  recognize  her  own  voice.  It 
was  thin  and  sharp,  and  cut  through  the  air 
like  a  steel  blade.  She  sprang  upon  the  tor- 
menting boy  and  tore  Gilbertina  away,  as  if  she 
had  suddenly  changed  into  a  small  whirlwind. 
The  three  merry  children  were  so  taken  by  sur- 
prise that  they  could  not  speak  a  word.  They 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  hot,  distorted  face,  under  a 
streaming  torrent  of  tears,  and  then  there  was 
the  sound  of  a  great  sob  as  the  doll  and  its 
owner  vanished  through  the  doorway. 

Ernest  was  the  first  to  recover  the  use  of  his 
tongue. 

"  Should  n't  wonder  if  she  was  mad,"  he  re- 
marked, nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of  his 
sister's  flight.  "I  didn't  know  it,  did  you? 
Did  she  hurt  your  finger?" 

For  Fred  was  supporting  one  hand  upon  its 
mate,  and  looking  at  it  with  a  sad  countenance. 

"  Well,  she  's  made  it  bleed,"  he  replied,  try- 
ing to  speak  like  a  hero  who  conceals  the  pain 


CANDY  AND  QUARRELING.  99 

of  a  dangerous  wound.  UI  think  I  had  better 
go  home  and  put  some  court-plaster  on." 

Hilda  was  flying  through  the  hall  and  up 
the  stairway  to  her  mother's  room.  Mrs.  Craig 
sat  there  with  her  brother,  wandering  with  him 
in  memory  through  the  summerland  of  their 
childhood,  sighing  now  and  then  fora  face  which 
the  earth  had  hidden  for  years,  and  smiling  al- 
most as  soon  with  the  thought  that  the  dear  one 
was  nearer  than  before. 

Into  this  peaceful  place  rushed  the  weeping, 
sobbing  Hilda,  startling  her  uncle  so  that  he 
jumped  to  his  feet.  His  sister  flashed  him  a 
significant  glance  ;  he  understood  at  once,  and 
went  quickly  and  silently  out  of  the  room.  Of 
course  a  little  girl  in  trouble  would  like  to  be 
alone  with  her  mother. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  the  slender, 
shaking  figure  already  in  her  arms,  "  try  to  stop 
crying  as  soon  as  you  can,  so  that  you  can  tell 
me  what  is  the  matter.  I  hope  my  darling  has 
not  hurt  herself  in  any  way." 

And  after  that  she  did  not  speak  again  for 
some  minutes,  although  her  heart  was  anxious. 
Such  stormy,  uncontrollable  grief  was  very  unlike 
Hilda,  and  aroused  the  fear  that  a  really  serious 
accident  had  occurred.  The  child  struggled 
with  her  sobs.  They  were  growing  less  violent, 
and  her  tears  had  ceased  to  flow,  when  a  door 


100  .A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

below  shut  with  a  bang,  stout  little  boots  hur- 
ried up  the  stairway,  and  Ernest  bounced  into 
the  room.  He  looked  as  wild  as  if  he  had  just 
escaped  the  clutches  of  a  witch.  He  was  in 
such  a  hurry  to  speak  that  his  tongue  became 
entangled  in  the  string  of  words. 

"  O  ma-ma tn ma  !"  stuttered  he,  "  you  j-just 
ought  to  have  seen  how  Hi-ilda  behaved."  Here 
he  wisely  paused  and  took  a  long  swallow,  alter 
which  he  was  able  to  proceed  more  elegantly : 
"I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Fred  and  Annie 
have  gone  home,  and  Annie  says  she  '11  never 
speak  to  her  again.  And  Fred  says  he  's  going 
to  tell  everybody  they  need  n't  spend  their 
money  to  see  wild  animals,  for  he  can  show 
them  a  genuine  jungle-tiger  any  time  they  '11 
come  to  this  house." 

"O  mamma,  do  n't  let  him!"  screamed  Hilda. 
"O,  I  never  will  again!  I  didn't  mean  to! 
But,  please  can't  you  stop  him  before  he  does?" 

"  Hush,  hush,  Hilda,"  entreated  Mrs.  Craig, 
for  the  child's  unusual  vehemence  really  fright- 
ened her.  "You  may  be  sure  that  nobody  will 
pay  any  attention  to  Fred  if  he  says  such  fool- 
ish things.  Lie  down  on  the  lounge,  and 
when  you  feel  able  you  may  tell  me  all  about 
it.  Ernest,  you  had  better  brush  your  hair.  It 
will  be  dinner-time  before  long,  and  you  are  not 
fit  to  come  to  the  table." 


Chapter*  VJ. 

PROFESSOR  WEST'S  ENTERTAINMENT. 

"  I  HAVE  been  such  a  bad  girl,  mamma,"  Hilda 
1  began,  in  a  trembling  voice,  her  face  sunk  in 
the  downy,  flowered  cushion.  "  He  made  me  so 
mad  that  I  thought  I  could  n't  help  it;  but  now 
I  know  I  could,  because  it  wasn't  right.  O,  I 
can't  tell  you  all  I  did  ;  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  re- 
member it  all.  I  screamed,  and  I  cried,  and  I 
snatched  Gilbertina  away.  What  shall  I  do  if 
they  won't  forgive  me,  mamma?"  The  reddened 
eyelids  shook,  and  two  silent  tears  slid  over  the 
pale  cheeks,  to  be  softly  caught  on  mamma's 
pocket-handkerchief. 

"  What  made  you  so  angry,  my  dear?  It  is 
that  which  I  do  not  understand.  Were  you 
quarreling  with  Annie?" 

"  O  no,  ma'am,  not  with  Annie,"  answered 
Hilda,  with  some  surprise.  It  is  funny  how 


101 


102  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

often  she  forgot  to  explain  things  to  her  mother, 
really  expecting  her  to  understand  without  being 
told.  "  It  was  Fred  that  snatched  Gilbertina 
out  of  Annie's  lap,  and  rode  her  on  his  shoul- 
der. I  'm  afraid  he  's  spoiled  her  hair ;  and  O, 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  break  her  all  to 
pieces !  But,  mamma,  I  tried  not  to  be  cross, 
and  presently  I  did  n't  want  to  speak  at  all.  I 
felt  so  bad  I  just  wanted  to  be  still  and  see 
what  happened." 

"Dear  child!"  said  her  mother,  and  kissed 
her.  But  Hilda  shrank  from  the  caress,  feeling 
that  she  did  not  deserve  it,  and  turned  her  wide, 
sorrowful  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Craig's  pitying  face. 

"But  you  know  I  did  get  mad,  after  all." 

"  My  poor  little  Hilda !  Go  on,  and  I  will 
listen." 

It  was  getting  harder  to  speak.  Hilda's  ex- 
citement was  wearing  off,  and  they  were  near 
to  a  very  sore  subject.  She  clasped  her  hands 
together. 

u  He  made  fun  of  her  name.  Then  I  screamed 
before  I  thought." 

"  Did  that  trouble  you  more  than  the  fear 
that  she  would  be  broken  ?  You  need  not  have 
minded  Fred's  nonsense,  darling ;  he  was  trying 
to  tease." 

Now  the  tumbled  brown  head  turned  rapidly 
over,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  it  but  a 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  103 

tangle  of  bronze  ringlets.  A  sunbeam  sprang 
upon  them  and  drew  forth  glints  of  gold. 

"  He  laughed  and  Ernest  laughed,"  affirmed 
a  smothered  voice. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Craig  did  not  reply,  and 
this  was  because  she  wanted  time  fos  thinking. 
She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  trouble  which 
was  disturbing  the  sensitive  young  soul,  but 
was  inclined  to  believe  herself  mistaken. 

"Are  you  ashamed  of  Gilbertina's  name, 
Hilda?  Would  you  like  it  to  be  changed?" 

"O  no,  ma'am  ;  don't  change  it!"  cried  Hil- 
da, bringing  her  face  hastily  into  view.  "  Uncle 
Gilbert  would  n't  like — .  No,  no  ;  I  do  n't  want 
it  changed !  You  do  n't  think  it  is  an  ugly 
name,  do  you,  mamma?" 

"  I  think  it  is  very  pretty ;  but  that  makes 
no  difference,  if  you  would  like  something  else 
better,"  was  the  smiling  answer. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  convinced,  by  Hilda's  earnest 
refusal  to  change  the  name,  that  her  doubts  con- 
cerning it  had  begun  with  Fred's  teasing.  If 
she  had  known  how  the  child  had  looked  upon 
it  from  the  first,  she  would  have  insisted  that  it 
should  be  abandoned  at  once. 

What  a  foolish  Hilda !  She  wanted  to  do 
right,  but  she  persisted  in  trying  only  in  her 
own  way.  If  she  had  but  turned  to  her  mother 
with  the  whole  truth,  her  trouble  would  have 


104  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

vanished  like  a  snowflake  smitten  by  sunlight. 
She  would  not  willingly  have  told  a  falsehood — 
nothing  could  have  shocked  her  more  than 
the  suggestion  of  such  a  thing — but  she  had 
touched  the  shining  truth  with  a  careless  hand, 
and  its  silver  radiance  was  dimmed. 

"Suppose  we  send  for  Annie  to  come  over," 
suggested  Mrs.  Craig,  observing  Hilda's  dis- 
quietude, but  mistaking  its  cause.  "  If  you  have 
a  little  talk  together,  I  think  you  will  very  soon 
forgive  and  forget." 

"  Now?  Right  now,  do  you  mean?  I  'd  like 
to  see  Annie,  but  I  don't  believe  she'd  come." 

Mrs.  Craig  saw  that  the  proposal  had  given 
her  comfort,  and  at  once  sent  Rose  writh  the  in- 
vitation. A  slowly-moving  little  figure  arrived 
at  Mr.  Tomlinson's  gate  on  the  inside  just  as 
the  messenger  reached  it  from  without.  Annie's 
red  hood  was  pulled  so  far  over  her  forehead  as 
almost  to  cover  the  fringe  of  straight,  dark  hair 
and  one  of  her  scarlet-mittened  hands  made  an 
involuntary  movement  upward,  as  if  she  felt 
that  her  face  must  be  hidden.  Not  only  her 
countenance,  but  also  the  way  that  she  carried 
herself,  showed  that  she  felt  ashamed. 

"Mamma  said  Hilda  couldn't  be  feeling 
well,"  she  began,  looking  not  at  Rose,  but  at 
the  graveled  path,  "so  I  thought  I'd  go  back 
and  see  if  she  was  sick." 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  105 

There  was  embarrassment  on  both  sides 
when  the  little  girls  met.  Hilda  said,  weakly  : 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Annie;"  and  Annie  re- 
plied, twisting  the  strings  of  her  hood  with 
such  force  that  she  pulled  one  of  them  off: 

"Are  you?"  She  knew  that  her  response 
was  ungracious,  although  she  had  meant  it  to 
be  quite  otherwise ;  and  when  she  noticed  how 
troubled  her  friend  looked,  she  added,  with  a 
pleasant  smile,  "I  know;"  and  Hilda  felt  her- 
self forgiven. 

"When  will  Archer's  show  begin?"  asked 
Annie,  after  the  reconciled  playmates  had  ex- 
changed friendly  glances  for  two  silent  minutes. 

"At  half-past  seven  ;  but  if  the  dining-room 
is  cleaned  out  soon  enough,  then  it  will  be 
earlier.  I  think  you  had  better  come  over  right 
after  dinner,  so  you  '11  be  sure  to  be  in  time." 

"Well,  we  will,"  promised  Annie,  rising  and 
whipping  the  air  with  the  detached  hood-ribbon. 
"  So  I  '11  go  home  now,  for  it 's  'most  dinner- 
time." 

Before  an  hour  had  passed  away,  she  was 
back  again,  accompanied  by  her  brother.  Three 
excited  children  burst  into  the  hall  through  as 
many  doors  to  receive  them..  Archer  came  from 
the  dining-room,  and  the  noise  of  sweeping  fol- 
lowed him  out. 

"  Rose  is  hurrying  up  Emma,"  he  reported. 


106  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  She  says  the  room  will  be  ready  in  five  min- 
utes. I'm  going  up-stairs  to  get  fixed.  Ernest, 
you  tell  all  the  folks,  won't  you?  They  'd  bet- 
ter be  right  here  when  the  door  opens." 

In  response  to  an  urgent  summons  the  en- 
tire household  gathered  in  the  hall  ;  less  rapidly, 
however,  than  the  manager  of  the  evening's  en- 
tertainment thought  becoming.  He  held  the 
door  slightly  ajar,  and  refused  to  admit  any  one 
until  the  assemblage  was  complete.  Then,  with 
majestic  grace,  he  flung  the  portal  wide,  and 
marched  slowly  to  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

Professor  West  was  now  seen  to  be  tastefully 
attired  in  a  blue  dressing-gown  and  a  crimson 
velvet  smoking-cap  with  waving  golden  tassel. 
He  stood  in  front  of  the  sideboard  and  beside 
the  dining-table,  reduced  to  its  smallest  dimen- 
sions, and  supporting  a  large  pasteboard  box,  a 
glass  tumbler,  and  a  white  plate.  The  profound 
silence  and  dignified  aspect  of  the  magician 
hushed  the  merriment  of  the  guests,  and  they 
took  their  places  very  quietly.  Every  invitation 
had  been  honored  ;  even  Emma,  the  colored 
cook,  who  had  been  with  them  only  two  days, 
was  there.  She  had  pulled  her  chair  apart  from 
the  others,  and  was  eying  Archer's  preparations 
with  a  solemnity  which  suggested  disapproval. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  began  the  profes- 
sor, in  a  voice  not  altogether  steady,  "  I  have 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  107 

upon  the  table  a  box  full  of  bran,  from  which  I 
propose  to  fill  this  now  empty  tumbler.  Simple 
bran,  you  observe,"  he  went  on,  dipping  the 
glass  several  times  into  the  box,  and  pouring 
back  what  he  had  taken  up,  that  the  audi- 
ence might  assure  themselves  of  his  honesty. 
"  Now,  I  set  the  tumbler  upon  the  table.  Do 
you  see  that  it  is  filled  with  the  bran  ?" 

"  Yes,"  chorused  four  shrill  voices. 

"Very  good.  I  now  throw  over  it  my  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Keep  your  eyes  fixed  upon  me, 
if  you  please,  that  you  may  be  quite  certain  I 
do  not  deceive  you.  When  I  covered  the 
glass  with  my  handkerchief  it  was  full,  was  it 
not?" 

"Yes  sir;  it  certainly  was." 

The  answer  came  from  Uncle  Gilbert,  who 
was  certainly  not  the  least  interested  spectator. 
He  was  bending  forward  over  Hilda's  shoulder, 
and  his  large,  wind-battered  face  was  round  with 
smiles.  Archer  drew  the  handkerchief  aside 
with  a  quick,  unexpected  movement. 

"  Indeed,  to  me  the  tumbler  appears  quite 
empty." 

There  was  a  shout  of  surprise.  Not  a  parti- 
cle of  bran  remained  in  the  glass,  through  which 
showed  the  wine-red  hue  of  the  table-cover. 
None  had  fallen  upon  the  cloth.  How  could  a 
handkerchief,  lying  lightly  over  the  top  of  a 


io8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tumbler,  suck  up  the  whole  of  its  dry  contents, 
and  hold  them  invisible  in  its  threads  ? 

"  Well  done,  my  boy  !"  cried  Uncle  Gilbert, 
applauding  with  hands  as  well  as  voice.  Hilda's 
repeated  pleadings,  "  But  how  did  you?  Archer 
do  tell  us  how  you  did  it,  won't  you,  Arch?" 
fluttered  forth  unheeded.  The  professor's  face 
was  flushed  with  triumph.  His  first  effort  had 
met  with  unqualified  success. 

"You  will  now  be  permitted  to  observe  the 
marvelous  operation  of  the  Mysterious  Tele- 
graph," he  announced,  pushing  his  cap  farther 
back  upon  his  head,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  and  immediately  drawing  them  out 
again.  "  I  see  in  the  audience  a  gentleman  lately 
returned  from  Australia.  He  is  sure  to  have 
plenty  of  gold  and  silver  about  him,  and  I  will 
there'ore  ask  him  to  lend  me  a  dime." 

Uncle  Gilbert  laughed  until  he  was  purple  in 
the  face,  and  tumbled  against  Blanche  in  the 
effort  to  get  out  his  purse. 

"Put  your  mark  upon  it,"  directed  the  pro- 
fessor, who  was  leaning  back  against  the  side- 
board in  the  repose  of  conscious  power.  "  Now, 
Blanche,  if  you  '11  lend  me  your  handkerchief 
I  '11  roll  the  coin  up  without  looking  at  it." 

"And  then  what?"  gasped  Annie,  almost 
breathless  with  interest.  Professor  West  did 
not  seem  to  hear  her.  Such  a  great  man  could 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  109 

not  allow  himself  to  be  interrupted  by  the  un- 
timely queries  of  a  little  girl.  Blanche  shook 
out  the  crepe  lisse  niching  in  her  sleeves,  some- 
what wrinkled  by  Uncle  Gilbert's  inconveniently 
prominent  elbow,  and  smilingly  produced  a 
transparent  white  handkerchief. 

"  I  'in  assistant !"  cried  Fred,  jiftnping  from 
his  chair,  and  receiving  the  coin  and  handker- 
chief with  a  bow,  which  awakened  the  envy  of 
Ernest,  and  the  admiration  of  the  other  chil- 
dren. Professor  West  looked  his  approval, 
rapidly  rolled  the  handkerchief  into  a  wad,  and 
ordered  that  it  be  returned  to  its  owner.  Then 
he  drew  a  ball  of  scarlet  yarn  from  his  pocket 
and  dropped  it  into  the  tumbler. 

"Here,  Fred,"  said  he,  the  shining  of  his 
eyes  showing  how  much  he  was  excited,  "  take 
the  loose  end  of  this  yarn,  and  hold  it  still  until 
I  tell  you  what  to  do  next.  Now,  Blanche,  will 
you  please  shake  the  coin  out  of  your  handker- 
chiel?" 

Annie's  head  obstructed  Hilda's  view,  and 
Hilda's. curls  bothered  Annie.  Ernest  tramped 
on  Uncle  Gilbert's  toes,  and  Uncle  Gilbert 
leaned  too  heavily  on  Ernest's  broken  arm.  All 
this  was  because  everybody  was  so  eager  to  see 
the  silver  dime  fall  from  Blanche's  pocket- 
handkerchief.  But,  although  Blanche  did  her 
best  to  gratify  them,  they  saw  nothing  of  the 


1 10  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

sort.  The  square  of  embroidered  lawn  was  un- 
folded before  their  eyes,  shaken  and  reshaken  in 
the  air,  but  no  shining  little  circle  fell  from  it, 
and  no  tinkle  or  thud,  however  faint,  greeted 
their  expectant  ears. 

"  It  has  fallen  into  the  plaits  of  your  dress, 
Blanche,"  said  her  mother. 

But  though  the  dress  was  as  thoroughly 
shaken  as  the  handkerchief  had  been,  the  bit  of 
silver  was  not  brought  to  light.  Uncle  Gilbert 
actually  dropped  upon  his  hands  and  knees  in 
hope  of  finding  the  coin  on  the  carpet.  The 
entire  audience  was  excited.  Professor  West 
alone  looked  placid  and  unamazed. 

"It  isn't  there,"  said  he. 

The  universal  expression  of  countenance  be- 
gan to  change  from  astonishment  to  sheepiness. 
Mr.  Craig  was  the  only  one  who  retained  suf- 
ficient buoyancy  to  respond: 

"  So  it  appears." 

"By  the  Mysterious  Telegraph  it  has  passed 
to  the  center  of  that  ball  of  yarn,"  proceeded 
the  professor.  "Unwind  it,  Fred." 

Fred  obeyed  him  ;  and  the  younger  portion 
of  the  audience,  carried  away  by  the  rapturous 
interest  of  the  moment,  made  simultaneously  a 
rush  for  the  table,  and  crowded  around  him 
much  more  closely  than  he  thought  pleasant. 

"Ho,    it  isn't    there!"  cried  Ernest,  laying 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  in 

his  bandaged  arm  against  the  tumbler.  This 
was  to  insure  his  position.  No  one  dared  to 
treat  that  arm  in  a  manner  deliberately  rough. 

"Is  it  there,  really,  Archer?"  asked  Hilda, 
turning  her  pink  face  appealingly  toward  the 
magnificent  magician. 

Tinkle,  tinkle  !  Something  hard  struck 
against  the  glass,  and  Fred  dropped  the  wool  in 
delighted  surprise. 

"It  is!  it  is!"  shouted  he;  and  the  two 
little  girls  immediately  became  a  chorus,  and 
echoed  his  exclamation  in  piercing  tones. 

"Give  it  to  Uncle  Gilbert — I  mean,  return 
the  coin  to  the  obliging  gentleman  whose  prop- 
erty it  is,"  commanded  Fred's  superior.  "  Now 
please  examine  it  carefully,  sir.  Do  you  find  it 
identical  with  the  one  which  you  handed  me, 
and  which  you  marked?" 

"  O,  so  I  did  mark  it,  to  be  sure,"  recol- 
lected Mr.  Pitcher,  screwing  up  his  eyes  for  a 
searching  gaze.  "  Indeed  it  is  no  other  than 
my  own.  There  's  the  dollar  mark,  as  plain  as 
a  pipestem,  that  I  scratched  on  it  with  my  pen- 
knife. See,  Blanche." 

"What?"    demanded    Ernest,  incredulously, 

cautiously  bestowing    the  usefully  useless  arm 

upon  his  uncle's  shoulder.     "Not  really  the  one 

that    he    wrapped    up    in    Blanche's    handker- 

•  chief?" 


112  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  the  very 
same,"  replied  his  uncle;  smiling.  "  Professor 
West,  I  congratulate  you.  You  have  talents 
which  ought  to  be  displayed  to  the  world." 

And  then  he  carefully  returned  to  Ernest 
the  inconvenient  loan  of  his  arm,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  beaming  with  contentment. 

"But  is  he  a  real  true  magician,  Uncle  Gil- 
bert? Is  he,  mamma?  Is  Archer?"  cried  Hilda, 
bewildered  by  the  amazing  power  which  her 
brother  had  exercised,  and  not  certain  what  she 
ought  to  believe. 

"I  make  no  pretensions  to  magic,"  said  the 
honest  conjuror,  letting  his  friendly  glance  rest 
for  a  moment  on  Hilda,  in  its  roving  around  the 
room.  "What  I  do  is  mere  sleight-of-hand.  Any- 
body could  learn  as  much — or,  may  be  not  just 
anybody,  "  he  corrected  himself,  determined  that 
modesty  should  not  prevent  his  speaking  the 
exact  truth;  "but  a  good  many  other  people 
could  if  they  choose." 

This  straightforward  statement  was  ap- 
plauded by  the  gentleman  from  Australia. 

"  Here  is  a  small  china  doll,"  said  Professor 
West,  undoing  a  twist  of  brown  paper  and  hold- 
ing up  the  toy  as  he  mentioned  it.  Hilda  stood 
on  tiptoe,  but  sank  back  into  her  chair  when 
Annie  pulled  her  sleeve. 

"  He  bought  it  at  Lanahan's  store,"  she  de-- 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  113 

clared,  in  a  buzzing  whisper.  "  I  saw  them 
there  just  the  other  day." 

"And  what,  Professor  West,  do  you  propose 
to  accomplish  with  the  doll?"  inquired  Mr. 
Pitcher,  who  was  enjoying  himself  very  much. 

"If  the  gentleman  will  kindly  excuse  me  for 
saying  so,"  returned  the  vivacious  professor,  "  I 
should  prefer  him  to  find  that  out  for  himself." 
Whereupon  the  uncle  and  nephew  united  in  a 
hearty  laugh. 

Suddenly  the  professor's  brow  clouded  ;  his 
face  took  on  a  watchful  and  perplexed  expres- 
sion. He  stooped  to  the  floor,  drew  the  palm  of 
his  hand  aimlessly  over  the  table-cover,  then 
stood  erect  and  stared  dubiously  at  the  audience. 

"  Why,  where  can  that  doll  be  ?  I  had  it  a 
moment  ago." 

"  Have  you  lost  it?" 

"It  was  right  here,  and  now  it  is  gone.  I 
see,"  said  Professor  West,  severely,  "that  I  am 
not  the  only  artist  in  the  room.  Some  one  else 
understands  sleight-of-hand  and  has  stolen  the 
doll  away.  It  is  of  no  great  value,  but  that 
was  n't  the  sort  of  thing  to  do.  Will  you  please 
give  it  back  ?" 

Silence  was  the  only  reply.  The  children 
looked  from  one  to  another  of  the  company  and 
then  at  the  stern  face  of  the  professor,  who, 
such  was  the  gravity  and  majesty  of  his  de- 

8 


114  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

meaner,  really  seemed  to  have  ceased  to  be 
fourteen-years-old  Archer  Craig,  and  become  a 
powerful  and  irritated  stranger. 

"Please  oblige  me,"  he  urged.  "The  toy 
is  really  not  worth  stealing.  You  can  buy  one 
just  like  it  for  five  cents." 

"Why,  Archer,"  broke  forth  Fred,  "I  don't 
believe  anybody  here  took  it.  Now,  honest, 
I  do  n't.  They  could  n't  take  it  that  way  if  they 
wanted  to.  Are  you  sure  you  didn't  lose  it  un- 
der the  sideboard?" 

"Young  man,"  said  Professor  West,  with  an 
attempt  at  a  ferocious  glare  which  was  a  total 
failure  and  set  him  to  blinking  wildly,  "you 
talk  like  a  person  who  is  trying  to  conceal  his 
guilt.  I  am  obliged  to  ask  you  to  let  me  ex- 
amine your  pockets." 

A  storm  of  applause  from  the  grown  people 
brought  a  dark  flush  of  pride  to  Archer's  cheek, 
and  overwhelmed  his  juniors  with  surprise. 
Fred's  face  reddened  also,  and  grew  rather  sul- 
len, but  he  manfully  stood  his  ground. 

"  I  do  n't  care  if  you  do  look  in  my  pockets. 
You  can  turn  them  inside  out,  if  you  want  to. 
As  if  I  'd  steal  a  baby  doll !" 

The  noble  scorn  expressed  in  this  speech 
caused  a  second  round  of  applause,  and  brought 
a  hearty  "  Hurrah  for  you,  Fred !"  from  Mr. 
Craig.  Fred,  still  bewildered,  but  understand- 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  115' 

ing  well  enough  that  he  was  by  no  means  an  ob- 
ject of  derision,  held  his  arms  stiffly  upward  and 
fixed  a  haughty  stare  upon  his  accuser. 

"  Your  character  is  cleared  from  all  suspi- 
cion," solemnly  declared  Professor  West,  after 
scratching  his  hand  on  a  nail  in  one  of  his  vic- 
tim's pockets.  "  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  feel 
that  you  are,  as  I  have  always  maintained,  an 
honor  to  the  neighborhood.  Allow  me  to  beg 
your  pardon." 

He  made  a  stiff  little  bow,  which  Fred  an- 
swered with  one  which  he  tried  to  make  as 
formal. 

"  But  it  must  be  clear  to  you  all,"  proceeded 
the  professor,  "that  I  can  not  allow  the  matter 
to  rest  where  it  is.  Fred  Tomlinson  has  n't 
stolen  the  doll — that  is  certain  ;  but  that  does  n't 
prove  that  every  one  else  is  innocent.  You  've 
all  got  to  be  examined;  and  I  '11  begin  with  you, 
sir,"  said  he,  pouncing  upon  Ernest,  who  invol- 
untarily thrust  out  his  protector,  the  bandaged 
arm. 

Amid  much  hilarity  the  search  proceeded. 
The  little  girls  were  at  first  inclined  to  be 
frightened,  but  soon  decided  that,  as  everybody 
was  so  merry,  the  whole  thing  must  be  a  splen- 
did joke,  and  joined  in  the  laughter  without 
questioning  what  it  was  about.  The  examina- 
tion was  too  brief  to  be  thorough  ;  indeed,  there 


n6  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

was  one  person  in  the  room  whose  pocket  the 
apparently  relentless  professor  did  not  touch. 
He  contented  himself  with  squeezing  her  hand 
and  bringing  his  mouth  close  enough  to  her  ear 
to  whisper,  "Dear  mamma!"  then  went  on  as 
contentedly  as  if  his  self-appointed  task  had 
been  conscientiously  performed. 

"  Every  one  has  been  examined  now  except 
Emma,"  said  the  professor,  starting  toward  her 
across  a  vacant  space.  Emma  had  risen,  and 
was  standing  with  her  arms  thrown  over  the 
back  of  her  chair.  A  gleam  of  fright  came  into 
her  eyes,  which  only  her  mistress  observed. 

"It  is  nothing  but  a  joke,  Emma;  never 
mind,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  encouragingly.  The  girl 
still  seemed  anxious,  and  regarded  Archer  with 
suspicion.  A  moment  later  a  violent  shudder 
shook  her  frame.  The  triumphant  boy  was  hold- 
ing the  doll  above  her  head,  and  loudly  de- 
claring that  he  had  drawn  it  from  her  pocket. 

"  Why,  Emma,"  cried  Rose,  laughing  heart- 
ily; "did  I  ever  think  that  of  you?"  Emma 
tried  to  speak,  but  fright  stiffened  her  tongue 
and  closed  her  lips.  The  children  surrounded 
her  with  shouts,  so  excited  as  to  be,  for  the 
time,  beyond  their  parents'  control.  She  stood 
for  a  moment  like  a  hunted  creature  at  bay, 
then  suddenly  burst  away  from  them  through 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  117 

the  door.  A  hush  dropped  upon  the  room  she 
had  deserted. 

"  O  Archer,"  said  Rose,  grown  suddenly  grave, 
"  I  do  n't  believe  you  ought  to  have  done  that — 
indeed  I  do  n't.  As  sure  as  you  live,  Emma  is 
crying." 

"Is  she?"  cried  the  professor,  instantly  trans- 
formed into  a  pale  and  conscience-stricken  boy. 
"O  mamma,  do  tell  me  what  to  do!  I  didn't 
mean  to  make  her  feel  bad.  Rose,  I  wish  I  had 
hid  the  doll  in  your  pocket;  you  wouldn't  have 
cared,  would  you?" 

"If  I  go  to  her,  maybe  I  can  make  her  see 
that  you  were  just  in  fun,"  said  good-natured 
Rose. 

But  this  was  not,  by  any  means,  an  easy  thing 
to  do.  Emma  was  seated  beside  the  kitchen 
table,  her  face  hidden  upon  her  folded  arms. 
When  Rose  spoke  to  her  she  lifted  her  head ; 
she  had  stopped  crying,  but  she  looked  much 
disturbed. 

"  Miss  Rose,"  said  she,  with  quiet  earnest- 
ness, "sure  enough,  I  don't  know  how  it  come 
in  my  pocket." 

"  Master  Archer  put  it  there  himself,  Emma. 
He  only  did  it  for  a  joke.  No  one  thought  for  a 
moment  that  you  would  steal." 

Emma's  eyes  rolled  incredulously. 


Il8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"He  couldn't  have  put  it  there,  Miss  Rose. 
He  was  away  't  other  end  of  the  room." 

"But  I  had  two  dolls,  Emma;  don't  you  un- 
derstand?" broke  in  Archer,  peering  anxiously 
over  Rose's  shoulder.  "  That  one  was  in  your 
pocket  'most  as  soon  as  you  came  into  the  room." 

It  could  be  read  upon  Emma's  countenance 
that  she  began  at  last  to  understand  the  real 
state  of  affairs.  She  looked  at  the  gayly-dressed 
professor  in  sober  silence,  then  rose  and  took 
down  her  hat  and  cloak  from  their  hook  behind 
the  door.  She  never  spent  the  night  at  Mrs. 
Craig's,  for  she  and  her  mother  had  a  comfort- 
able home  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  in 
what  the  old  colored  woman  called  "  a  blue  cot- 
tage shanty." 


YJJ. 


LITTLE  COUSINS. 

WHEN  Hilda's  eyelids  began  to  draw  apart 
the  next  morning,  in  answer  to  Blanche's 
repeated  call,  the  thought,  "  I  'm  going  to 
Gertie's  to-day,"  had  sole  possession  of  her 
mind.  It  was  there  as  soon  as  she  woke,  just 
as  if  it  had  busied  her  brain  all  night,  yet  for 
hours  she  had  been  too  sound  asleep  to  be  con- 
scious of  any  thoughts  at  all.  Now,  just  as  she 
was  ready  to  spring  from  her  bed,  eager  to  pre- 
pare for  her  short  journey,  a  sound  struck  upon 
her  ear  which  made  her  bright  eyes  darken. 
She  lay  back  upon  her  pillow  and  listened. 
Rain  was  falling  upon  the  roof,  and  springing 
from  eaves  and  window-sills.  It  was  neither  a 
light,  drizzling  rain  which  might  pass  away 
with  the  morning  mists,  nor  a  vehement,  rat- 
tling shower  which  would  be  likely  to  exhaust 

119 


120  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

its  strength  before  long,  and  leave  a  clear  day 
behind  it,  but  a  steady  downpour,  loud  only 
because  there  was  so  much  of  it — the  kind  of  a 
rain  that  we  welcome  if  we  wish  an  uninter- 
rupted morning  for  indoor  work. 

"  Blanche,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  weak  voice,  with 
a  fluttering  sigh  between  her  words,  u  it  's 
raining." 

Blanche  was  crossing  and  recrossing  the  room 
while  she  braided  her  dusky  locks.  This  al- 
ways had  to  be  very  tightly  done,  because  she 
said  she  felt  nervous  if  there  was  the  least  bit 
of  looseness  about  her  hair;  and  the  work 
aroused  so  much  energy  that  she  could  not  keep 
still,  but  walked  from  door  to  window  and  back 
again,  until  three  shining  plaits  were  finished 
in  faultless  style. 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  was,"  she  retorted, 
stopping  in  front  of  the  looking-glass.  "  That 
need  n't  surprise  you  nor  anybody  else  that  has 
lived  here  this  fall.  I  have  seen  as  much  rain 
in  the  last  month  as  I  've  seen  in  any  three  be- 
fore." 

"  But  will  mamma  let  me  go  to  the  city,  do 
you  suppose?"  asked  the  dismal-faced  little 
sister. 

"Let  you  go  to  the  city!  You  must  be 
crazy,  Hilda.  I  do  n't  believe  you  have  the 
faintest  idea  what  a  day  it  is.  Get  up  and  look 


LWTLE  .  CO  USINS.  1 2 1 

out  of  the  window,  and  then  talk  about  going 
to  the  city." 

Hilda  crawled  languidly  over  the  foot-board, 
and  peeped  through  the  curtains.  It  seemed  as 
if  there  were  enough  water  in  the  scene  to 
moisten  a  whole  continent.  There  was  no  ap- 
parent break  in  the  long,  heavy  lines  striking 
dully  upon  the  soaking  sod ;  and  the  storm  had 
built  itself  a  lofty  tent  of  gray,  thick  and  solid 
enough  to  dwell  in  for  twenty-four  hours,  if  not 
for  many  more. 

She  turned  sorrowfully  away.  Blanche,  in 
her  garnet  morning-gown,  was  a  pleasant  spec- 
tacle after  such  a  view  of  outside  dreariness. 

"O,  I  did  so  want  to  go  to  Gertie's!" 

"Well,  you  can't,"  was  the  true  but  comfort- 
less rejoinder. 

The  older  girl  was  more  interested  in  her 
white  mull  neck-scarf  than  in  the  little  one's 
disappointment. 

Hilda  said  no  more,  being  really  too  sad  to 
talk.  She  followed  her  sister  down-stairs  and 
into  the  dining-room,  without  caring  whether 
any  one  wished  her  good-morning  or  not. 

That  was  the  way  she  felt;  but  if  her  father 
had  not  at  once  stretched  out  his  arms  (he  was 
nearest  the  door),  and  her  mother  had  not  sent  her 
a  look  which  showed  that  she  regretted  the  wreck 
of  her  little  girl's  plans,  Hilda  would  have  found 


122  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

another  grief  much  harder  to  bear  than  the  loss 
of  her  visit  to  Gertie.  After  two  loving  kisses, 
the  blue  of  her  eyes  was  cleared  of  its  borrowed 
clouds  ;  she  went  to  her  place  with  a  lighter 
step,  and  told  Rose  that  she  would  like  her  eggs 
scrambled  instead  of  boiled. 

"I  believe,"  remarked  Blanche,  who  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  the  situation,  "  that  I  will 
make  Gilbertina's  cloak  to-day,  and  then  she 
can  wear  it  when  she  goes  visiting  to-mor- 
row." 

Hilda  dropped  her  fork  upon  her  cup  of 
chocolate,  and  a  brown  stain  on  the  table-cloth 
was  the  result. 

"  To-morrow,  Gilbertina  go  visiting  !  But 
do  you  mean  that  I  can  go  to  Gertie's  to-mor- 
row, mamma,  can  I?" 

"  Why,  I  hope  so,  darling.  Of  course  I  do 
not  know.  If  the  weather  should  continue  as  it 
is  to-day,  your  going  would  be  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  but  that  is  very  unlikely.  Anyhow  it  is 
only  putting  off  the  pleasure  for  a  little  while. 
There  will  be  sunshiny  days  some  time." 

"  I  was  afraid  there  would  n't  be  any  more 
this  week,  and  I  've  got  to  go  to  school  next 
Monday,"  said  Hilda,  bestowing  upon  Rose  a 
ravishing  smile  in  return  for  the  scrambled  eggs. 
u  Then  to-day  I  '11  read  my  new  book,  and 
Blanche  will  make  the  cloak,  and  to-morrow 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  123 

Gertie  will  be  all  the  gladder  to  see  me  because 
I  did  n't  come  before." 

Having  submitted  to  her  disappointment  so 
bravely  and  patiently,  Hilda  found  the  day 
neither  long  nor  dull.  Blanche  took  such  pains 
with  the  little  cloak  that  it  was,  when  finished, 
a  marvel  of  neatness  and  beauty.  A  ribbon  of 
corresponding  hue  replaced  the  white  one  upon 
the  doll's  cap.  Then  Gilbertina,  manteled 
and  decked  for  her  journey,  was  primly  arranged 
in  the  little  arm-chair,  which  had  been  bought 
for  Blanche  when  she  was  four  years  old. 

"  O,  you  dear  doll!"  exclaimed  Hilda,  gazing 
at  her  with  big,  lustrous  eyes.  "  You  are  just 
as  lovely  as  you  can  be.  O,  you  are!" 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  bidding  her  an 
everlasting  farewell,"  said  Blanche,  laughing  at 
Hilda's  regretful  tone.  "  Do  n't  you  forget  to 
tell  Gertie  her  name ;  now  mind.  Do  n't  you 
make  a  mistake  and  tell  her  it  is  Susy  One 
Hundred  and  Eleventh." 

And  Blanche  glanced  at  her  little  sister  mis- 
chievously. She  loved  to  tease,  and,  like  many 
other  people,  could  not  understand  that  jokes 
which  did  not  hurt  herself  might,  nevertheless, 
be  painful  to  others. 

"I  never  had  but  five  Susies  and  two  heads; 
I  counted  them  all,"  returned  Hilda,  with  a 
dignified.^air,  which  amused  Blanche  highly. 


124  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Then  she  carefully  picked  up  the  chair,  and 
carried  it  into  the  darkest  corner  of  her  bed- 
room. Nobody  was  there  to  see  how  lovingly 
she  pulled  the  soft  dress  over  the  tiny  slippers, 
nor  to  laugh  at  the  mournful  tone  in  which  she 
murmured,  as  she  kissed  the  hard,  chilly  fore- 
head : 

"  O,  you  poor  Gilbertina !  Anyhow  you  're 
my  darling  doll." 

The  griefs  of  children  are  sometimes  ridicu- 
lous in  the  sight  of  their  elders;  yet  the  sigh 
which  stirred  Gilbertina's  airy  curls  had,  after 
all,  as  real  a  cause  as  many  that  are  breathed 
by  men  and  women. 

The  rain  lasted  all  day.  In  the  night  the 
wind  arose  and  flung  itself  against  the  north- 
ward window  of  the  girls'  room,  catching  it  be- 
tween its  teeth  as  if  to  tear  it  from  its  frame. 
Blanche  awoke  with  a  start,  but  Hilda  slumbered 
unmoved  through  all  the  clattering  and  bang- 
ing that  Boreas,  after  a  nice  long  rest,  found 
himself  able  to  create.  The  morning  dawned 
much  colder.  Hilda,  while  she  dressed,  watched 
it  come  slowly  out  of  a  thin  mist,  growing 
brighter  and  brighter,  until  her  heart  leaped 
with  the  glad  assurance  that  the  day  would  be 
fair. 

Streaks  and  blotches  of  snowy  vapor  still 
whitened  the  sky  when  she  walked  out  of  the 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  125 

gate  in  her  new  green  coat  with  Astrakhan 
trimming,  and  her  graceful,  broad-brimmed  hat. 
Gilbertina  was  in  her  arms,  looking  so  sweet 
that  her  one  fault  (which,  indeed,  was  not 
her  fault,  but  her  misfortune)  was  altogether 
forgotten  ;  and  Archer  was  by  her  side,  swing- 
ing her  pretty  sealskin  satchel  as  high  as  his 
short  arms  would  permit. 

At  about  the  same  time  Gertie  Winner  was 
kissing  her  mother  good-bye,  and  starting  for 
the  Lincoln  Street  Station  to  meet  Cousin 
Hilda.  The  village  of  Hawthorn  was  so  near 
the  city  that  it  took  the  trains  only  about  twenty 
minutes  to  come  thence  to  this  outer  depot,  and 
Gertie  was  determined  to  be  on  time. 

The  house  in  which  she  lived  was  one  of 
eighteen,  all  exactly  alike,  which  stretched  in  a 
row  from  one  street-corner  to  another.  They 
had  pretty  little  front  porches,  the  roofs  painted 
blue  inside,  and  supported  upon  slender  pillars. 
If  you  stood  on  a  porch  at  either  limit  of  the 
line,  you  could  look  through  a  long,  azure-ceiled 
arch  to  the  other  end.  Every  house  had  a  little 
green  door-  yard  with  gray  stone  curbing,  and  it 
was  not  at  all  difficult  to  make  a  mistake,  and 
ring  a  stranger's  door-bell  when  you  intended 
to  ring  your  own. 

"It  isn't  so  bad,"  Gertie  had  told  Hilda,  "if 
you  come  along  from  Branch  Street.  Then  you 


126  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

can  count  five  houses,  and  the  sixth  is  ours.  But 
what  will  you  do  if  you  come  down  from  Rob- 
ert Street?  Who  wants  to  be  bothered  with 
counting  thirteen  houses?  You  can  tell  by  a 
lamp-post  if  you  watch  well  enough,  and  if  the 
parlor  curtains  are  apart  you  can  see  papa's 
picture." 

It  was  only  after  dark  that  there  was  any 
trouble ;  the  number  above  the  door  showed 
plainly  enough  in  daytime,  but  did  not  light  up 
well  at  night.  Gertie  came  down  the  steps 
with  a  run  and  flirt  and  jump,  and  looked 
up  at  the  window  as  she  passed  to  kiss  her  hand 
to  her  mother.  No  matter  how  often  she  went 
out  alone,  a  glance  toward  that  second-story 
window  always  showed  her  a  smiling  face  and 
slender,  waving  hand. 

A  brisk  walk  of  six  or  seven  minutes  brought 
the  child  to  the  little  smoke-barkened  building 
which  afforded  entrance  through  a  half-glass 
door  to  the  oddly-shaped  waiting-room.  A 
counter  extended  along  the  apartment,  a  glass 
case  covering  a  third  of  its  top  at  each  end, 
while  the  space  between  supported  a  large  pair 
of  scales.  One  of  the  cases  protected  an  assort- 
ment of  uninviting  candy ;  the  other  sheltered 
varieties  of  cigars  and  plug  tobacco;  and  the 
shelves  upon  the  wall  behind  were  given  up  to 
the  same  staple  luxuries.  Underneath  a  heavy 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  127 

blue  iron  chandelier,  with  white  globes  of  the 
ugliest  kind,  stood  the  station  mistress,  a  pleas- 
ant-faced woman,  with  smooth  hair  and  lady- 
like deportment.  Gertie  knew  her  very  well. 
They  exchanged  greetings,  and  then  the  little 
girl  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  the  bay- 
window — a  dingy  window,  which  was  shelved 
within,  and  latticed  with  iron  on  the  outside, 
and  which  served  as  a  baggage-room  for  country 
people  who  marketed  in  the  city. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  time  it  is,"  thought 
Gertie  in  about  a  minute  and  a  half,  glancing  at 
a  vacant  place  on  the  highest  shelf,  where  the 
clock  was  wont  to  stand.  It  had  told  so  many 
falsehoods  that  it  had  been  sent  away  for  cor- 
rection. "I'd  like  to  know  that  it  was  some 
time,  even  if  it  was  n't  right.  After  this,  when 
I  come  to  meet  Hilda,  I  shall  bring  a  book  to 
read." 

Two  or  three  school-girls  came  in  just  then, 
young  persons  of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  and 
Gertie  became  interested  in  watching  them. 
They  were  dressed  very  prettily,  with  faultless 
gloves  and  shoes  of  the  neatest  fit.  She  thought 
they  were  young  ladies,  and  wondered  why  they 
took  seats  so  far  apart  that  their  conversation 
had  to  be  loud  enough  for  strangers  to  hear, 
and  why  they  so  frequently  got  up  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  only  to  laugh.  Pretty  soon 


128  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

there  was  a  roar  and  a  rush,  and  the  train  was 
there.  Gertie  flashed  through  the  doorway,  and 
stood  still  to  see  from  which  of  the  two  cars 
Hilda  would  emerge.  Passenger  after  passen- 
ger alighted;  women  shawled  and  women  veiled  ; 
men  who  walked  briskly,  and  men  who  swung 
their  shoulders  lazily ;  but  no  little  girl  with 
long  brown  ringlets. 

Was  it  possible  that  Hilda  would  not  come? 
No,  it  was  not ;  Gertie  decided  that  in  an  in- 
stant, and  went  back  into  the  waiting-room. 

"  Mrs.  Hansen,"  she  said — for  the  station- 
mistress  was  resting  her  arm  upon  the  candy- 
case,  a  far-away,  dreamy  look  in  her  eyes — "is 
this  the  train  that  I  came  to  meet?  I  don't 
know — I  guess  there  isn't  any  other — but  I 
came  to  meet  my  cousin,  and  she  isn't  here." 

"  What  train  did  you  think  it  was  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Hansen,  sympathetic  but  helpless.  The 
door  opened  before  Gertie  could  answer,  and  of 
course  they  both  looked  in  that  direction.  In 
came  a  little  girl  in  green  and  black,  with  a 
very  scared  face,  and  a  hat  a  great  deal  too 
much  to  one  side. 

"  Why,  Hilda,"  exclaimed  Gertie,  springing 
forward,  "  I  did  n't  see  you  get  off!" 

"  No,  I  know  it.  I  pretty  near  got  carried 
past." 

Hilda's  voice  was  hurried  and  sounded  as  if 


UTTLE  COUSINS.  129 

she  could  not  breathe  easily.  Her  eyes  were 
on  the  point  of  overflowing,  and  when  she 
leaned  against  her  cousin  she  trembled  so  that 
she  shook  Gertie's  arm. 

"Well,  nevermind;  you're  all  right  now," 
said  Gertie,  encouragingly ;  for  she  was  such  a 
little  woman  that  she  saw  at  once  that  Hilda 
was  excited  and  ought  to  be  petted  and  soothed.. 
The  poor  little  thing  had  never  before  made 
even  such  a  short  journey  alone.  She  had  not 
been  sure  that  she  recognized  the  station,  and 
had  hesitated  to  leave  the  car  until  the  bell  was 
pulled  and  the  wheels  began  to  roll  onward. 

"  Then  I  saw  the  grocery-store  at  the  cor- 
ner, and  the  man  has  such  a  funny  name — " 
Hilda  was  proceeding  when  a  shriek  of  delight 
cut  her  short. 

"  O,  you  darling  Hilda,  whose  lovely  doll? 
Is  it  a  birthday  present?  Who  gave  it  to  you? 
I  never  did — no,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did  see 
such  a  sweet  one?  Can't  I  carry  it  for  you,  be- 
cause you've  got  your  satchel?" 

"  O  yes,  you  may,"  answered  Hilda,  gazing 
at  the  charming  little  face  with  a  proud  smile, 
as  Gilbertina  was  transferred  to  Gertie ;  "  but 
I  would  n't  let  everybody.  It  is  a  secret — and 
you  mustn't  tell — but  I  love  her  better  than 
any  other  of  my  dolls,  and  I've  only  had  her 
two  days." 

9 


130  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Did  you  get  her  on  your  birthday?"  in- 
quired Gertie,  squeezing  Gilbertina's  feet  in  an 
ecstasy  of  admiration. 

"  Yes;  my  Uncle  Gilbert  got  her  in  London. 
He  isn't  your  uncle,  and  you  don't  know  him 
yet;  but  when  you  do  you'll  love  him  'most  as 
much  as  I  do ;  and  so  he  will  you  too.  He 
came  from  Australia  himself." 

"  Have  you  got  her  named  yet?"  asked  Ger- 
tie, heedless  of  all  which  did  not  directly  con- 
cern the  lovely  creature  in  her  arms.  "If  you 
haven't,  it  isn't  any  matter.  I  know  lots  of 
splendid  names." 

"Yes,  she's  named,"  answered  Hilda,  trying 
to  speak  carelessly.  "  Named  for  Uncle  Gil- 
bert." 

"How?" 

"Gilbertina.  Blanche  made  it  out  of  Gil- 
bert. Don't  you  know? — like  Georgiana  comes 
from  George." 

"O,"  cried  Gertie,  stopping  to  stare  at  Hilda 
with  clear,  astonished  eyes,  "  I  don't  like  that  a 
bit!  I  really  don't." 

"  It  is  made  out  of  my  Uncle  Gilbert's 
name,"  returned  Hilda,  with  a  brave  show  of 
defiance.  She  was  too  loyal  to  speak  her  own 
disapproval,  even  to  her  cousifi  and  dearest 
friend. 

"Well,  anyhow  it  doesn't  seem  to  suit   this 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  131 

doll,  because  she  is  a  little  girl.  A  doll  called 
Gilbertina  ought  to  be  a  grown-up  young  lady, 
and  very,  very  stylish.  She  ought  to  have  black 
hair,  and  be  just  as  slender  as  a  post,  with  a  tiny 
bit  of  a  waist  and  a  long  train.  Now  that 's  what 
I  think  Gilbertinas  all  ought  to  look  like  ;  I 
do  n't  know  whether  you  think  so  or  not." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  declared  Hilda,  before  whom 
this  vivid  and  attractive  word-picture  had  raised 
a  vision  of  a  tightly-laced  and  handsomely 
dressed  society  belle.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if 
her  treasure  were  such  a  doll  as  Gertie  described 
she  could  hear  her  spoken  of  as  Gilbertina  with- 
out either  shame  or  disapproval. 

"  So,  on  that  account,  I  should  change  her 
name,"  added  Gertie,  as  if  the  affair  were 
settled. 

"But  I'm  afraid  Uncle  Gilbert  mightn't 
like  it.  I'm  afraid  he'd  think  I  didn't  like 
him,"  Hilda  said,  with  a  wrinkled  brow.  "I  do 
want  to,  Gertie;  you  can't  think  how  much." 

"You  ask  your  mamma  what  she  thinks 
about  it,"  said  her  cousin,  encouragingly. 
"  Then  do  you  want  me  to  name  her?  I  '11  find 
something  lovely.  Let  me  see ;  Isobel  Camp- 
bell— Edith  Plantagenet — no,  you  want  it  for  a 
little  girl.  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  ;  you  talk  to  your 
mamma  and  get  it  all  arranged,  and  then  I  '11 
have  the  name  ready.  Here  's  home." 


132  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

A  black-and-white  kitten  rushed  out  as  soon 
as  the  door  was  opened.  It  turned  at  once, 
however,  and  walked  back ;  but  when  Hilda  at- 
tempted to  stroke  its  fur,  it  scampered  along  the 
hall  and  was  lost  in  the  shadow. 

"  O,  that 's  a  bad  kitten  !"  said  Gertie.  "  Come 
up  to  my  room,  Hilda.  Quillup  his  name  is. 
It  is  for  Quilp  in  'Old  Curiosity  Shop,'  but  I 
changed  it  just  a  little  because  he  was  such  a  vil- 
lain. But  Quillup  is  bad  enough  for  anybody. 
He  isn't  our  cat;  he  just  came  here;  and  we 
had  two  kittens  of  our  own,  and  Quillup  drove 
them  away.  He  loses  himself  outside  the  fence, 
and  pretends  he  can 't  get  through,  and  he 
screams  and  cries  till  you  'd  think  his  heart  was 
broken.  But  when  he  wants  to  come  back  he 
comes ;  and  he  won't  let  you  bring  him  in  if 
you  try.  Here  we  are.  Take  your  things  off. 
I've  cleared  you  out  the  middle  bureau-drawer." 

Gertie's  room  was  a  very  pretty  one,  with 
cherry-wood  furniture  and  pale-blue  walls.  A 
good  many  pictures  hung  around,  cut,  for  the 
most  part,  from  magazines,  and  provided  with 
home-made  frames;  for  she  was  a  handy  little 
thing,  and  fond  of  attempting  new  work. 

"  They  're  putting  up  a  house  on  the  yard 
that  the  German  Church  stands  in,"  remarked 
Gertie,  rushing  to  the  window,  with  her  hat  in 
her  hand  and  one  arm  freed  from  heir  coat. 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  133 

"  I  wish  they  would  n't.  We  used  to  could  see 
clear  through  to  Newton  Street.  Oho !  look 
here,  Hilda  !  There  's  four  windows  dancing  on 
top  of  the  wall.  That 's  happened  since  I  went 
away." 

The  brick-work  of  the  lower  story  being 
complete,  the  upper  window-frames  had  been 
erected,  and  now  presented  an  insecure  and 
rather  ghostly  appearance. 

"  I  've  watched  that  house  ever  since  it  was 
begun,"  proceeded  Gertie,  "  and  so  I  sort  of 
know  how  to  do  it.  Of  course  I  do  n't  mean  I 
really  could  build  one  myself,  but  only  that  I 
think  I  have  got  the  general  idea.  My  papa 
says  no  one  will  ever  be  sorry  for  getting  a  gen- 
eral idea  of  everything  that  comes  in  his  way." 

Mrs.  Winner  entered  just'  then,  having 
escaped  for  a  few  minutes  from  the  loquacious 
and  witty  Miss  Dilworth,  who,  much  to  Gertie's 
disgust,  had  not  yet  completed  the  work  for 
which  she  was  required.  The  dresses  which 
Miss  Dilworth  made  were  almost  always  satis- 
factory when  finished,  but  the  making  of  them 
was  a  discouragingly  slow  process.  Gertie 
thought  she  might  sew  a  great  deal  faster  if 
she  tried. 

"  If  she  just  would  n't  fold  her  hands  every 
time  anybody  says  what  kind  of  a  day  it  is. 
Hilda,  she  makes  mamma  do  all  the  basting  and 


134  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

hand-sewing — or  ever  so  much  of  it  any  way — 
and  yet  she  was  all  last  week  making  over 
mamma's  plum-colored  cashmere.  And  if  she 
hasn't  some  one  to  talk  to,  she  sings  'Sweet 
Genevieve  '  over  and  over  and  over.  I  used-  to 
like  that  song,  and  now  I  hate  it." 

Mrs.  Winner  laughed  ;  then  told  Hilda  what 
pleasure  her  visit  would  give  the  whole  family, 
and  how  especially  glad,  on  Gertie's  account, 
she  was  to  have  her  with  them. 

"Gertie  has  no  duties,"  she  said.  "Her 
eyes  relieve  her  from  all  work,  and  yet  she 
isn't  grateful  to  them." 

"Indeed  I'm  not!"  cried  Gertie,  shaking 
her  fist  at  two  great  blue  eyes,  which  gazed 
upon  her  from  the  looking-glass. 

"  So  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  amuse 
yourselves.  Will  you  be  able  to  do  that,  do  you 
think?" 

"O  yes  Jm,"  Hilda  answered.  "  Here  is  my 
doll.  Do  you  like  her,  auntie?" 

Certainly  Mrs.  Winner  liked  Gilbertina. 
She  was  as  much  charmed  with  her  remarkable 
beauty  as  everybody  else  had  been,  and  she 
complimented  Blanche's  sewing  in  terms  which 
Hilda  treasured  up  to  make  her  sister's  eyes 
brighten. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  Gertie,  with  an  air 
of  responsibility,  "  I  was  thinking  how  we  had 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  135 

better  arrange  so  that  Hilda  could  enjoy  herself 
the  most.  You  know  she  came  up  to  make 
chocolate  creams ;  but  I  thought  we  would  n't  do 
that  right  away." 

"  I  would  n't  make  them  before  luncheon," 
replied  her  mother,  laughing.  "  It  is  twelve 
o'clock,  and  Nelly  is  busy  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Well,  and  not  before  dinner,  either.  Listen, 
mamma,  and  see  if  you  do  n't  like  what  I  thought 
we  'd  do.  Let 's  not  make  chocolate  creams 
until  evening ;  then  Nelly  can  leave  us  alone, 
and  it  will  be  ever  so  much  more  fun.  And 
after  lunch  Hilda  and  I  will  go  up-town,  and 
call  in  at  papa's  store,  because  she  has  never 
been  there  yet,  and  I  want  to  get  a  little  glass 
for  my  gold-colored  burnt-match  receiver.  How 
will  that  do  ?  Is  n't  it  a  good  plan  ?" 

Both  Mrs.  Winner  and  her  niece  agreed  that 
it  was  excellent.  So,  as  soon  as  luncheon  was 
over,  hats  and  cloaks  went  on,  and  the  cousins 
started  out.  The  air  was  still  damp,  and  the 
wind  blew  briskly,  but  the  sky  was  perfectly 
clear.  The  trees  were  almost  bare,  and  stretched 
forth  innumerable  prickly  twigs,  a  few  dying 
leaves  shaking  and  shining  in  the  pure  sunlight. 
The  walk  to  the  street-car  was  a  very  short  one  ; 
but  they  had  to  go  carefully  over  the  crossings, 
which  were  bedded  in  thin,  black  mud.  It  was 
pleasant  to  be  settled  safely  in  the  car.  Not 


1 36  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

many  people  were  there  when  they  entered,  and 
Gertie  began  to  chatter  briskly,  pointing  out  the 
various  objects  of  interest.  At  first  these  lat- 
ter consisted  chiefly  of  groceries  and  butcher- 
shops,  with  a  smoky  factory  and  one  cheap 
trimming-store. 

"  Here  's  the  corner  where  they  're  putting 
up  some  more  new  houses,"  said  Gertie.  It  was 
a  pretty  row  of  three-storied  bricks,  with  bay- 
windows,  and  long  porches  furnished  with  slen- 
der, red  columns.  Their  jaunty  modern  air  con- 
trasted inharmoniously  with  the  neglected  field 
from  which  they  rose. 

u  O,  I  think  it  was  just  a  shame  to  put  these 
houses  here !  There  used  to  be  the  loveliest 
haunted  house,  Hilda,  that  ever  you  saw ; 
black  as  a  stovepipe,  and  the  windows  broken 
in,  and  a  stone  doorstep  sunk  way  into  the 
ground — farther  on  one  side  than  the  other;  and 
the  yard  just  bristled  with  weeds.  It  looked  as 
if  no  one  had  stepped  on  it  for  years  ;  but  I  've 
seen  dirty  children  playing  there  when  I  went 
past." 

"But  was  it  a  really  haunted  house?"  asked 
awestruck  Hilda,  watching  the  brilliant,  chang- 
ing face  of  her  cousin.  Gertie  had  such  a  vivid 
imagination  that  she  saw  romances  painted  on 
the  most  commonplace  of  tottering  old  walls. 

u  No,   it  was  n't,   because    there    is  n't  any- 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  137 

thing  of  the  kind.  But,  Hilda,  it  could  have 
been  just  as  well  as  not.  One  night  I  was  walk- 
ing past  there  with  papa — it  was  as  much  as 
nine  o'clock.  That  house  was  as  still  and 
black  as  a  hole  dug  out  of  the  ground,  until  I 
lifted  up  my  eyes — and  there  was  a  light  in  the 
up-stairs  window — the  middle  one.  Nor  it  was  n't 
a  still  light,  either ;  it  sort  of  shook  and  went 
without  going,  as  if  the  kind  of  a  ghost  that  car- 
ries a  tall  silver  candlestick  with  a  wax  taper  in  it 
was  coming  up  the  staircase.  Well,  thought  I 
to  myself,  now  it  is  n't  really  possible  that  house 
is  haunted  after  all,  is  it?  So  I  thought,  Sup- 
pose the  cold  ghost-air  should  blow  right  down 
on  us  as  we're  going  past.  And  I  shrugged 
up  close  to  papa  till  he  said  :  'Are  you  chilly, 
dear?'  Then  I  asked  him  what  he  supposed 
made  that  light,  when  we  knew  for  certain  there 
weren't  any  people  in  there;  and  he  showed 
me  that  it  was  the  reflection  from  the  windows 
of  the  house  across  the  street.  That  was  every 
bit  of  truth  there  was  about  it" 

"  O !"  breathed  Hilda,  relaxing  with  a  sigh 
from  the  suspense  in  which  this  animated  nar- 
rative had  held  her. 

"  Would  you  have  been  afraid  if  you  had 
seen  it?" 

"  I  do  n't  know — I  think  perhaps  not,"  was 
the  doubtful  answer ;  yet  in  her  heart  Hilda  felt 


138  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

pretty  certain  that  not  even  an  icy  draught  of 
air,  that  most  blood-curdling  horror  of  all,  could 
frighten  her  very  much  while  she  felt  her 
father's  strong,  warm  fingers  clasped  about  her 
own. 

"  My  papa  says  there  is  n't  any  doubt  that  a 
great  many  ghost-stories  grow  out  of  things  just 
as  easy  to  understand,"  observed  her  cousin, 
with  an  aspect  of  profoundest  wisdom.  "  Peo- 
ple get  scared  very  easy,  and  then  they  tell 
what  they  think  they  saw,  when  they  did  n't 
see  it" 

"Then  they  aren't  speaking  the  truth." 

"  But  they  do  n't  mean  to  tell  a  story ;  we 
mustn't  be  too  hard  on  them,"  returned  Gertie, 
with  wide,  earnest  eyes.  "  I  honestly  believe  it 
is  wicked  to  get  frightened  when  you  can  help 
it,  Hilda ;  because  then,  as  likely  as  not,  you  '11 
deceive  people  without  meaning  to.  And  that 
would  be  dreadful,  wouldn't  it?" 

Hilda's  conscience  felt  a  twinge  of  pain  as 
she  listened.  She  remembered  that  her  mother 
had  asked  her  whether  she  would  like  Gilberti- 
na's  name  to  be  changed,  and  the  quickness 
with  which  she  had  answered  "  No."  Had  she 
told  a  falsehood  then,  without  meaning  it?  If 
not,  why  did  the  sudden  recollection  make  her 
feel  like  frowning  at  herself? 

The  car  was  fast  filling,  and  Gertie  became 


LITTLE   COUSINS.  139 

so  interested  in  certain  fellow-passengers  that 
she  forgot  to  talk.  Directly  across  the  aisle  sat 
three  elderly,  we^l-dressed  women,  who  had  en- 
tered separately,  and  seemed  overjoyed  to  see 
each  other.  All  were  smiling  and  cheerful. 
They  looked  like  kind,  happy-hearted  ladies, 
who  had  passed  through  a  good  many  years  of 
life,  and  lost  neither  hope  nor  benevolence.  Two 
of  them  wore  sealskin  wraps,  and  the  other  a 
checked  cloth  cloak;  two  had  their  frosty  hair 
crimped  on  either  side  of  their  winter-bright 
faces,  and  the  third  had  gray-streaked  bangs. 
This  last  did  most  of  the  talking;  her  tongue 
spun  a  rapid  thread  of  words,  frequently  broken 
by  laughter,  in  which  her  companions  joined. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  continuing  some  remark 
which  her  little  admirer  had  not  caught,  "like 
he  does.  He  says  he  makes  it  a  point  never  to 
remember  anything.  'Why,  don't  you  remem- 
ber this?'  they  say.  'No,  I  don't;  I  don't  re- 
member it  at  all;  it  must  have  happened  before 
I  was  born.'  Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

uHa,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  chorus. 

One  of  them  wore  pear-shaped  black  ear- 
rings, so  long  that  they  touched  her  shoulders 
and  scraped  back  and  forth. 

Presently  the  talkative  old  lady  was  again  to 
be  heard  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence. 

u  Sweetest  little  story  you  ever  read — about 


140  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

how  he  lost  his  memory.     First  he  dreamed  he 
lost  it,  you  know.     Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

Gertie  was  so  fascinated  by  this  jovial  trio 
that  she  forgot  all  else,  and  stared  at  them  until 
one  of  the  ladies — the  one  with  the  ear-rings- 
gave  her  a  nervous,  worried  glance,  and  mur- 
mured something  which  caused  the  chief  speaker 
to  lower  her  voice.  Then  Gertie  blushed  to 
think  she  had  forgotten  her  manners,  and  turned 
her  head  to  look  out  of  the  window.  Why,  where 
were  they?  They  were  close  to  the  bridge  which 
led  over  the  river  to  the  neighboring  city,  and 
her  father's  store  lay  a  long  distance  behind. 

"O,  we  've  come  too  far!"  exclaimed  Gertie. 
"Hilda,  we've  come  too  far!"  and  she  bent  for- 
ward to  signal  to  the  conductor. 

But  that  functionary  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  door,  intently  regarding  something 
in  the  increasing  distance.  By  this  time  Hilda 
was  ready  to  sink  with  mortification,  for  the 
three  old  ladies  had  suspended  their  conversa- 
tion, and  were  watching  the  agitated  little 
maiden  as  if  they  were  very  much  afraid  of 
what  she  might  be  tempted  to  do  next ;  and  a 
young  man  who  sat  near  them  was  so  much 
amused  that  he  seemed  to  be  upon  the  point  of 
laughing  aloud.  Finally  Gertie  leaned  over  her 
cousin  and  pounded  on  the  door  and  window 
with  such  force  that  Hilda  almost  expected  to 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  141 

see  the  glass  panes  fly  into  bits.  This  brought 
the  conductor  out  of  the  mist  of  thought.  He 
looked  over  his  shoulder  with  a  frown,  and,  in 
response  to  Miss  Winner's  imperative  nod, 
stopped  the  car  at  about  equal  distances  between 
two  crossings.  Two  disgusted  little  girls  picked 
their  way  heedfully  through  the  mud,  and  paused 
as  soon  as  they  reached  the  pavement  to  inspect 
their  shoes. 

"  I  polished  them  just  before  we  came  away," 
said  Gertrude,  mournfully.  "Now  I  know  my 
papa  will  think  I  did  n't  care  how  I  looked." 

"They  aren't  as  bad  as  mine,"  said  Hilda, 
equally  depressed  ;  "  but,  anyhow,  I  guess  we 
did  n't  get  our  dresses  muddy,  and  I  thought 
for  certain  we  would.  Where  is  uncle's  store, 
Gertie  ?  I  do  n't  see  anything  that  looks  like  it." 

"As  sure  as  anything,  Hilda  Craig,  I  let  that 
street-car  drive  on  and  on,  and  we've  got  ever 
so  far  past.  I  don't  know  what  you'll  think  of 
me,"  said  Gertie,  humbly. 

Hilda  was  indeed  very  much  surprised  ;  but 
that  was  because  she  had  such  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  her  cousin.  It  was  not  easy  to  sus- 
pect Gertie  of  making  a  mistake.  The  walk 
back  did  not  seem  so  very  long,  and  when  they 
entered  the  store  they  saw  Mr.  Winner  at  once. 
His  face  lighted  up  when  they  appeared. 

What   a    fascinating  store  it  was !     Delicate 


142  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

china  and  diamond-like  glass  covered  the  walls 
and  tables,  and  almost  covered  the  floor.  At  first 
Hilda  hardly  dared  to  take  a  step  ;  it  seemed 
impossible  to  move  amid  this  beautiful  and  brit- 
tle collection  without  injuring  something  costly  ; 
but  Gertie  went  about  like  a  humming-bird, 
swift  and  sure. 

"  What  I  want,  papa,"  she  soon  found  oppor- 
tunity to  say,  "  is  a  little  glass  like  the  one  I 
got  here  last  week.  I  know  just  where  it  is, 
and  I  can  get  it  without  bothering  you." 

"  My  daughter  is  thoroughly  conversant  with 
the  stock,"  laughed  Mr.  Winner,  to  the  gentle- 
man with  whom  he  had  been  talking  when  the 
children  entered  the  store.  u  In  case  of  a  strike, 
I  believe  she  might  prove  a  valuable  assistant. 
Did  you  find  what  you  wanted,  dear?"  he  asked, 
as  the  humming-bird  in  hat  and  gloves  flew 
briskly  to  his  side. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  found  it  all  right,  and  I  thought 
I  'd  better  take  two  while  I  was  about  it ;  be- 
cause I  might  want  another,  and  it 's  some 
trouble  to  come  for  it  just  the  minute  it 's 
needed.  Besides,  they  get  broken  very  easy," 
panted  Gertie,  speaking  with  more  and  more 
difficulty,  because  she  had  lost  her  breath  and 
could  not  be  silent  until  it  should  be  fully  re- 
covered. "  Now,  Hilda,  you  come  with  me,  and 


LITTLE  COUSINS.  143 

I  '11  show  you  the  cunningest  little  cups  you 
ever  saw." 

"  What  was  it  you  said  you  wanted  the  little 
glass  for?"  inquired  Hilda,  holding  her  skirts 
tightly  as  they  passed  some  slender  gilded  vases 
nearly  as  tall  as  she  was  herself. 

"  A  burnt-match  receiver.  Don't  you  know? 
You  crochet  it  out  of  silk  and  put  the  glass  in, 
and  silk  balls  to  trim  it  with,  and  a  ribbon- 
hanger.  O,  you  never  told  me  what  you  're 
making  for  Christmas  !  Haven't  you  begun?" 

"  Why,  no,  I  have  n't,"  and  Hilda  hesitated. 
"But  I'd  like  to  ever  so  much,  Gertie,  if  there 
is  anything  you  can  teach  me." 

"  I  can  teach  you  no  end  of  things,"  was  the 
prompt  and  encouraging  reply.  a  Now,  how 
would  you  like  a  match-receiver  like  mine  ? 
I  '11  give  you  my  other  glass." 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  could.  You  see,"  ex- 
plained Hilda,  with  an  effort,  "  I  can  't  do  very 
much — not  yet.  I  never  learned  to  sew,  so 
you  'd  better  not  teach  me  anything  very  hard." 

"  Can  't  you  really  sew?"  asked  Gertie,  over- 
come with  astonishment.  The  ready  blush 
stained  Hilda's  cheek,  and  she  pouted,  half  with 
vexation,  half  with  shame. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  so  very  old,"  said  she, 
in  an  injured  tone.  "  There  are  n't  many  little 


144  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

girls  that  can  do  a  great  deal  when  they  are 
nowhere  near  ten  years  old  yet." 

UO,  you  mustn't  get  mad!"  cried  Gertie, 
alarmed.  "  I  like  you  just  as  well  as  if  you 
knew  how  to  sew.  Of  course  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter a  bit  when  you  're  only  nine  years  old  ;  but 
if  I  were  you  I  'd  learn  right  away,  because 
pretty  soon  you'll  be  ten.  I  know  a  nice  thing 
for  you  to  do.  It  is  card-board  book-marks.  I 
used  to  make  lots  of  them  before  I  learned  how 
to  do  other  things.  They  have  words  stamped 
on  them,  and  you  get  split  zephyr  and  sew 
through  the  holes.  Shall  we  buy  one?" 

"  Could  I,  do  you  think  ?"  exclaimed  Hilda, 
her  annoyance  forgotten  and  her  face  spark- 
ling. "I'd  just  love  to,  if  I  could." 

"Yes,  it's  easier  than  you'd  ever  believe. 
Let 's  say  good-bye  to  papa,  and  then  we  '11  go 
straight  to  Miss  Tilly's.  That 's  the  best  place 
to  buy  such  things." 


CHOCOLATE    CREAMS. 

THE  store  of  Miss  Tilly  Fellows  was  a  very 
pleasant  place.  It  was  of  modest  propor- 
tions ;  but  its  one  window  was  brilliant  with 
cleanness,  and  the  ribbons,  neck-ties,  and  other 
small  trifles  therein  displayed,  were  so  arranged 
that  they  seemed  to  have  been  tenderly  laid  in 
their  places  by  a  hand  that  loved  them.  A  bird- 
cage hung  just  behind  it,  the  inhabitant  of  which 
was  a  canary  of  unusual  size,  possessing  a  voice 
much  more  remarkable  for  strength  than  sweet- 
ness. Miss  Tilly  liked  to  hear  him  sing ;  but 
she  was,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  the  only  person 
who  enjoyed  the  performance.  He  was  de- 
tested by  fine-eared  customers,  who,  however, 
generally  respected  the  feelings  of  his  admira- 
ble mistress,  and  left  the  store  rejoicing  that  it 
was  so  easy  to  get  out  of  sound  of  his  music. 
He  screamed  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  fre- 

10  145 


146  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

quently  late  in  the  evening,  and  was  not  com- 
monly regarded  as  one  of  the  advantages  of  the 
neighborhood. 

An  open  stove  stood  in  the  back  part  of  the 
room,  and  not  far  from  this,  in  a  be-ribboned 
rocking-chair,  sat  Miss  Tilly.  She  was  a  tall, 
stout  woman,  about  fifty  years  old,  with  pale 
eyes  and  hair,  but  rosy  cheeks  and  a  radiant 
smile.  A  little  table  stood  at  her  elbow,  heaped 
with  bright-colored  silks  and  worsteds  of  deli- 
cate hues. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Tilly,"  cried  Gertie 
Winner,  bursting  into  the  shop  and  holding  the 
door  open  for  her  companion  to  follow.  Miss 
Fellows  rose  to  her  feet  and  came  forward,  not, 
indeed,  very  rapidly,  but  much  faster  than  she 
was  accustomed  to  move.  She  loved  Gertie 
dearly ;  had  made  her  dainty  caps  and  fairy-like 
Afghans  when  she  was  a  baby  with  great  eyes, 
and  hair  not  worth  mentioning ;  and  no  matter 
how  frequently  the  little  girl  visited  the  store, 
she  could  not  come  often  enough  to  satisfy  its 
owner. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  good  scolding," 
said  she,  in  gentle  tones.  As  the  canary's  voice 
was  much  louder  than  might  be  expected  from 
so  small  a  bird,  so  was  Miss  Tilly's  softer  and 
sweeter  than  her  appearance  led  one  to  antici- 
pate. Her  foot  fell  heavily  and  her  arms  had  an 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  147 

awkward  swing,  but  her  speech  was  always 
pleasing  and  refined.  "  You  get  into  the  street- 
car to  go  to  papa's  store,  and  right  past  poor  me 
you  go,  without  even  waving  your  hand." 

"  Well,  honestly,  Miss  Tilly,  I  have  n't  been 
past  but  once  since  I  was  here,  and  then  I 
wasn't  going  to  papa's  store.  I  went  to  the 
'Mother  Goose'  entertainment.  I  didn't  see 
you  at  the  window  till  we  were  pretty  nearly 
past,  and  then  I  did  wave  my  hand,  but  you 
did  n't  notice  it.  Who  do  you  s'pose  this  is  ? 
It  is  my  own  cousin,  Hilda.  Do  you  remember 
we  showed  you  her  photograph  once,  and  you 
said  she  was  pretty?  She  has  moved  to  Haw- 
thorn, and  now  we  can  see  her  often;  and  O, 
we  're  so  glad — she  and  I !" 

"  She  is  prettier  than  her  picture,"  said  com- 
plimentary Miss  Tilly,  laying  her  large  hand 
lightly  on  the  child's  hair  and  kissing  her  fore- 
head, exactly  as  she  had  already  done  to  Gertie. 
Hilda,  who  was  generally  so  timid  with  strangers 
of  all  classes,  felt  at  ease  with  this  sweet-natured 
woman  at  once. 

"  Miss  Tilly  dear,"  said  Gertrude,  affection- 
ately, "  have  you  got  any  more  card-board  book- 
marks ?  Hilda  wants  to  buy  one." 

"With  the  mottoes?  Yes,  I  think  I  have," 
replied  Miss  Tilly,  putting  on  her  spectacles  and 
taking  down  a  flat,  green  pasteboard  -box. 


148  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  There,"  she  added,  removing  the  cover,  "  look 
through  them  and  find  what  you  want.  I 
have  n't  as  nice  an  assortment  as  I  used  to  have ; 
they  aren't  as  much  the  fashion  as  they  were 
awhile  ago,  but  occasionally  somebody  wants 
one." 

"'Home,  Sweet  Home,'  'Think  of  a  Distant 
Friend,'  'I  Love  You,'  'To  My  Dear  Brother,'" 
read  Gertie,  thoroughly  inspecting  the  collec- 
tion. "That's  all  the  different  kinds.  Which 
do  you  want,  Hilda?  Whom  is  it  for?" 

"I  don't  know,"  her  cousin  answered, 
blankly.  She  had  not  thought  so  far  as  that. 

"Then  you'd  better  take  'I  Love  You'  or 
'  Home,  Sweet  Home,'  because  they  '11  do  for 
anybody." 

"I  think 'I  Love  You' is  nice,"  suggested 
Hilda,  as  Gertie  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"All  right.  She  just  wants  one  to-day,  Miss 
Tilly,  and  I  guess  she  '11  get  some  shaded  red 
split  zephyr  to  work  it  with.  Do  you  want  red, 
Hilda,  or  blue?" 

"  O,  I  suppose  I  '11  take  red,"  answered  Hilda, 
wishing  that  Gertie  would  make  the  purchase 
without  referring  to  her. 

Miss  Tilly  would  not  let  them  leave  without 
first  partaking  of  ginger  cookies.  She  kept 
house  in  two  tiny  rooms  back  of  the  store.  In 
the  most  remote  of  these  she  prepared  her  own 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  149 

meals  and  baked  cakes  for  her  numerous  young 
friends.  The  cookies  were  served  on  a  heavy, 
crooked-edged  plate,  ornamented  with  a  slate- 
colored  landscape.  This  plate,  as  Gertie  speedily 
informed  her  cousin,  was  exactly  as  old  as  its 
owner,  having  been  bought  on  the  very  day  of 
her  birth. 

Hilda  was  anxious  to  go,  for  she  wanted  to 
begin  her  book-mark.  Fancy-work  was  still  pro- 
hibited to  Gertie,  although  her  eyes  were  grow- 
ing better.  Books  were  no  longer  forbidden,  but 
she  might  not  read  as  much  as  she  wished 
(which,  indeed,  was  a  great  deal),  and  often 
found  time  pass  very  slowly.  Therefore,  it  gave 
her  great  pleasure  to  act  as  Hilda's  instructor ; 
and  the  work  progressed  so  rapidly  that  three 
large  letters  were  finished  before  Mr.  Winner 
came  in  and  the  family  were  summoned  to 
dine. 

Gertie  permitted  no  lingering  at  table  that 
evening.  Her  repeated  reminder  that  the  choc- 
olate creams  could  not  be  made  until  Nelly  had 
abandoned  the  kitchen  produced  an  amiable  de- 
sire on  the  part  of  her  parents  to  get  out  of  the 
way  as  soon  as  was  convenient.  As  they  passed 
into  the  hall,  she  flung  open  the  kitchen  door 
and  summoned  the  maid. 

"Now,  Nelly,  everybody  has  gone,  and  Hilda 
and  I  are  going  right  away,  unless  you  want  us 


150  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

to  help  you  ?  Do  you  ?  Shall  we  carry  out  the 
plates?" 

u  No,  indade,"  answered  Nelly,  who  was 
good-natured  unless  somebody  tried  to  share  the 
work,  which  she  regarded  as  entirely  her  own. 
"Jist  you  two  yoong  ones  skip  up  the  stairs,  and 
iverything  will  be  ready  in  no  time.  Mysilf  is 
wantin'  to  git  through  as  much  as  yees  want  it." 

"  You  see,"  Gertie  explained  to  Hilda,  as 
they  crowded  up  the  staircase  with  their  arms 
around  each  other — a  mode  of  advance  which 
bumped  the  former  against  the  wall  and  the  lat- 
ter against  the  banisters — "she  is  going  to  buy 
her  winter  cloak  and  hat  this  evening,  and  so 
she  's  in  a  hurry  to  go.  It  is  a  good  thing  for 
us,  isn't  it?" 

"Will  it  be  long  before  she's  ready,  do  you 
think?"  asked  Hilda,  as  they  entered  her  aunt's 
room. 

Mrs.  Winner  was  sewing  beside  her  work- 
table,  upon  which  a  lamp  was  burning  beneath 
a  rose-tinted  shade. 

"  Not  so  very  long,  but  long  enough  for  you 
to  work  some  more  at  your  motto,"  was  the  busi- 
ness-like reply.  "  You  take  this  chair,  because  I 
do  n't  need  to  be  near  the  light.  You  're  get- 
ting along  splendidly ;  I  wish  you  'd  bought 
two." 

But  Hilda  did  not  echo  the  wish.  She  seated 


CHOCALATE  CREAMS.  151 

herself  upon  the  chair  which  her  cousin  had 
drawn  up  for  her  accommodation,  and  lifted  the 
book-mark  from  her  aunt's  mending-basket. 
But  she  looked  doleful,  and  her  movements 
were  slow.  The  fact  is  that  she  was  already 
tired  of  her  task,  fascinating  though  she  had 
found  it  at  first,  and  was  disposed  to  think  that 
the  weakness  of  Gertie's  eyes  was  not  such  a 
very  sorrowful  infliction,  since  it  rendered  needle- 
work impossible. 

"  I  suppose  we  might  play  something,  if  we 
knew  what  to  play,"  said  the  unoccupied  mem- 
ber of  the  group.  u  But  what's  that  noise?" 

"  It  sounds  like  a  knock,"  replied  Mrs.  Win- 
ner, when  she  had  listened  a  moment ;  "  but  it 
is  very  faint.  I  hardly  think  it  worth  while  to 
go  to  the  door ;  but  it  will  give  you  something 
to  do  if  you  don't  mind  traveling  up  and  down 
stairs,  and  it  is  just  possible  that  some  one  is 
there." 

Climbing  stairs  was  nothing  to  Gertie.  She 
had  the  hall-door  open  in  a  few  seconds,  and  as 
she  drew  it  inward,  a  short  and  chubby  figure 
followed — a  small  girl  of  four  or  five  years,  bare- 
headed and  cloakless,  although  the  wind  which 
rushed  after  her  was  sharp  enough  to  make  one 
shiver. 

She  was  a  very  charming  apparition,  in  the 
cleanest  and  prettiest  of  long,  white  aprons, 


152  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

which  allowed  only  a  bordering  of  her  bright 
dress  to  be  seen.  A  round,  cheerful  face  smiled 
confidingly  upward,  beneath  a  crown  of  reddish- 
brown  curls,  and  a  silvery  voice  composedly 
inquired : 

"Must  I  come  in  now?" 

"  O,  Florence  Atchison,  you  've  run  away 
again  ;  and  what  a  bad,  bad,  bad  girl  you  are  !" 
cried  Gertie,  hugging  her  so  hard  that  they 
both  gasped  for  breath.  "  Come  straight  up  to 
mamma's  room  and  get  warm.  Your  hands  are 
little  frogs.  I  should  be  dreadfully  ashamed  to 
have  frogs  for  hands  if  I  were  you." 

This  made  Florence  laugh.  She  entered  Mrs. 
Winner's  room  with  the  smiling  self-possession 
of  an  invited  guest,  and,  in  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion how  she  came  thither  at  such  an  hour  and 
in  such  a  plight,  she  said,  with  a  mischievous 
smile  : 

"  I  came  out  when  papa  went,  but  I  did  n't 
let  him  know." 

"  That 's  the  way  she  does  ;  she  watches  till 
the  door  is  open,  and  then  she  slips  through.  I 
never  saw  such  a  wicked  little  thing  as  you  are, 
Florence ;  but  you  're  just  as  sweet  as  a  peach 
and  sugar,  too.  Can't  she  stay,  now  she  's  here, 
mamma?  I  know  she  would  like  to  see  us  make 
chocolate  creams." 

"  Wrap  a  shawl  about  you,  darling ;  run  in 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  153 

and  let  Mrs.  Atchison  know  where  she  is.  We 
shall  be  glad  to  have  her  stay  awhile,  if  her 
mother  is  willing." 

It  did  not  take  long  to  obtain  the  desired 
permission,  for  the  little  runaway  lived  in  the 
adjoining  house.  She  helped  to  make -time  pass 
pleasantly  until  the  kitchen  was  ready  for  the 
children,  and  also  afforded  Hilda  a  welcome  ex- 
cuse for  neglecting  her  work.  Nelly  presently 
stopped,  on  her  way  to  her  room,  to  tell  Gertie 
that  she  might  begin  her  candy-making,  and 
that  everything  necessary  was  on  the  table. 
Upon  this  there  was  a  rush  down-stairs.  Flor- 
ence was  forgotten;  but,  being  perfectly  capable 
of  looking  out  for  herself,  she  left  the  room  and 
trotted  after  them  as  speedily  as  her  short  legs 
would  permit. 

"Everything  on  the  table! — and  the  sauce- 
pan itself  isn't  there!"  said  Gertie,  contemptu- 
ously, her  voice  half-drowned  in  the  alarming 
clatter  she  was  raising  among  the  pots  and  ket- 
tles. "Why  can't  anything  ever  be  got  at  with- 
out lots  of  other  things  banging  down?"  she 
demanded,  emerging  from  her  search  with  fiery 
cheeks. 

"  You  have  n't  put  your  apron  on  yet,  and  I 
wish  you'd  tie  mine,  if  you  please,"  said  Hilda, 
determined  to  begin  aright. 

Gertie  seized   upon    the    apron-strings  as  if 


154  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

she  had  not  a  minute  to  spare,  and  pulled  them 
into  a  bow  which  was  tight,  but  not  beautiful. 

"  You  make  the  cream  out  of  sugar,  you 
know,"  she  lucidly  explained — "pulverized  sugar 
and  water.  After  it  is  boiled  you  make  it  into 
little,  tiny  balls,  and  when  the  chocolate  is 
melted,  you  roll  them  in.  Somebody  must  grate 
the  chocolate.  I  expect  you  want  to  do  that." 

"O  yes,"  returned  Hilda,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"You  can  sit  right  beside  me  and  talk  to  me, 
Florence,"  she  added,  benevolently,  feeling  very 
old  and  experienced. 

"There  's  that  bad  Quillup  !"  exclaimed  Ger- 
tie, dropping  a  paper  of  sugar  to  rush  at  the 
kitten,  who  retreated  beneath  a  chair  and  stared 
at  her  with  glassy,  yellow  eyes.  "  Down-stairs 
you  're  going,  you  nuisance,"  shaking  it  vio- 
lently when  she  had  succeeded  in  drawing  it 
from  its  refuge.  "  I  do  n't  like  to  feel  toward  a 
cat  as  I  feel  toward  you.  Where's  my  precious 
Isabel,  that  you  coaxed  away  so  you  could  live 
here  all  alone?" 

The  kitten  turned  its  head  languidly  from 
side  to  side,  apparently  seeking  the  lost  Isabel 
in  the  four  corners  of  the  room. 

"Look,  Hilda!"  cried  Gertie,  much  amused. 
"  He  pretends  he  's  looking  for  her.  Honestly, 
he 's  smart ;  but  then,  as  my  papa  says,  he  's 
vicious.  O,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Isabel 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  155 

St.  Leger!  She  was  the  prettiest  and  the  smart- 
est cat  anywhere  around.  He  was  jealous  of 
her — indeed  he  was — and  he  cheated  her  through 
a  hole  in  the  fence.  O,  it  makes  me  so  mad  to 
think  about  it!" 

She  opened  the  cellar-door,  and  thrust  the 
accomplished  villain  in  upon  the  top  step.  He 
turned  his  back  and  sat  quietly  down,  evidently 
resigned  to  his  fate  ;  while  Gertie  almost  fell 
over  Florence,  who  had  come  close  behind  her 
and  was  raising  her  voice  in  protest. 

"  You  can't  have  him,  darling.  Gertie's 
ever  so  sorry,  but  she  will  not  have  that  creature 
running  round  under  foot  when  she  is  trying  to 
cook.  Go  and  tell  Hilda  about  your  poor  dog- 
gie. What  was  it  the  bad  boys  did  to  him  ?" 

"O,  zey  put  a  chain  round  his  neck  and 
made  it  all  sore,"  said  the  easily-diverted  Flor- 
ence, rounding  her  mouth  to  show  her  sympa- 
thy ;  "  and  his  leg  was  runned  over ;  and  a  boy 
frew  a  stone  at  his  face  and  made  it  all  sore, 
too." 

"O  my !  what  a  pity!"  exclaimed  Hilda, 
laughing  so  that  the  grater  fell  to  the  floor. 
"That's  one  of  the  sorrowfulest  stories  that 
ever  I  heard." 

"There  can  't  be  much  of  the  dog  left,  can 
there?"  asked  Gertie,  who  was  roasting  herself 
beside  the  fire.  The  top  of  the  range  was 


156  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

rapidly  becoming  red-hot,  and  the  mixture  in 
the  sauce-pan  was  boiling  furiously. 

"I  don't  know  what's  ze  matter  wis  zat 
dog,"  continued  Florence,  with  animation.  "  He 
just  puts  his  paws  up  on  you,  and  kisses  you  all 
over." 

At  this  point  she  attempted  to  rest  her  el- 
bows on  the  table,  and  plunged  them  instead 
into  the  powdery  heap  of  grated  chocolate.  Of 
course  the  plate  upset,  but  fortunately  it  was 
upon  Hilda's  clean  apron  ;  the  accident  caused 
the  young  confectioners  no  trouble  beyond  one 
speechless  moment  of  agonized  suspense. 

"  Time  's  up !"  called  Gertie,  excitedly. 
"Doesn't  the  clock  say  sixteen  and  a  half  min- 
utes to  eight?  Well,  don't  look  any  longer, 
Hilda,  if  you  can't  tell  right  away;  I'm  pretty 
sure  it  does.  Off  comes  the  cream.  Now  we 
have  to  make  it  into  balls  double-quick  time, 
or  it  will  get  so  hard  we  can't  manage  it." 

"  I  want  to  make  ze  balls,"  announced  Flor- 
ence, trying  to  roll  up  her  sleeves. 

"O,  the  cunning  little  thing!  Let's  let  her, 
Hilda,"  proposed  tender-hearted  Gertrude.  "  But 
your  hands  aren't  clean  enough,  Florence,  pet. 
Shall  Gertie  wash  them?" 

Florence  looked  her  disapproval,  yet  allowed 
herself  to  be  dragged  to  the  sink  and  scrubbed 
with  ivory  soap.  Gertie  rubbed  with  such  en- 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  157 

ergy  that  the  tender  little  hands  grew  deeply 
red.  The  victim  shivered  and  drew  in  her 
breath  with  an  "  O — O!"  which  affected  a  pause 
in  her  torture. 

"It  doesn't  hurt  if  you  do  rub  it  on  the  sore 
place,"  said  Florence,  bravely,  telling  this  obvi- 
eus  fib  with  a  fortitude  worthy  of  a  nobler  ut- 
terance. 

Gertie  screamed  with  remorse;  she  fondled 
the  wee,  dripping  hand  until  Hilda  calmly  re- 
marked, as  she  patted  a  sugary  lump,  that  the 
cream  was  getting  as  hard  as  ice.  The  united 
efforts  of  the  three,  soon  covered  a  large  sheet 
of  paper  with  tolerably  white  marbles ;  and  the 
sport  of  rolling  them  in  chocolate  had  just  be- 
gun when  the  bell  rang  and  Florence  was  sum- 
moned home. 

She  was  not  a  bit  sleepy,  and  had  been  enjoy- 
ing herself  very  much,  but  she  neither  cried  nor 
pouted.  With  ladylike  composure  she  seated 
herself  upon  the  floor,  and  quietly  said  : 

"  I  will  come  as  soon  as  Gertie  gives  me 
some  choc'late  creams." 

"I'll  get  you  a  little  saucer  to  carry  them 
on  ;  you  don't  care  if  it  is  broken,"  rejoined  her 
hostess,  bringing  out  a  rosebud-sprinkled  piece 
of  china,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  bitten 
by  a  mouse.  "  Do  n't  you  eat  them  to-night;  it 
is  too  late  ;  and  besides,  they  aren't  so  good  till 


158  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

the  next  morning.  Kiss  me,  you  darlingest 
little  dear.  When  will  you  come  to  see  me 
again?" 

"  Wednesday,"  gravely  promised  the  child, 
as  she  clasped  the  saucer  carefully  with  her 
mite  of  a  hand  and  walked  away. 

The  candy-making  was  completed  with  alt 
possible  speed,  and  the  plate  of  chocolate-creams 
set  upon  a  shelf  in  the  pantry.  The  clearing- 
up  after  such  a  frolic  is  never  very  interesting, 
but  Gertie  was  determined  to  leave  things  as 
nice  as  possible.  The  sauce-pan  was  filled  with 
water  and  left  in  the  sink  ;  all  the  other  utensils 
were  washed  and  put  away  ;  then  the  chief-cook 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  pulled  down  her 
sleeves. 

"  Now,  Hilda,  you  can  go  on  up-stairs.  I  '11 
just  brush  off  the  stove-hearth  and  sweep  as 
well  as  I  can  with  my  little  broom.  Then  I  '11 
be  ready.  You  be  thinking  up  something  nice 
to  do;"  and  the  tired  but  energetic  arms  seized 
the  broom,  and  began  to  wield  it  as  diligently 
as  if  they  were  not  aching. 

Hilda  was  half-way  to  the  staircase  when  an 
agonized  shriek  tore  through  the  air.  It  told 
so  plainly  of  fright  and  pain  that  the  mother, 
who  sat  reading  in  a  distant  apartment,  let  her 
book  fall,  and  ran  with  a  fast-beating  heart.  She 
passed  Hilda  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  rushed  in 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  159 

to  find  Gertie  walking  round  and  round,  her 
hands  clasped  over  her  forehead  and  her  face 
flooded  with  tears. 

"Mamma,  I  don't  know  how  it  happened," 
she  sobbed,  when  she  was  able  to  speak.  "I 
was  sweeping  up  close  to  the  stove,  and  my 
head  bumped  against  the  tea-kettle  spout — but 
it  did  n't  upset.  It  hurts  so  I  can  't  stand  it." 

She  was  a  brave  little  thing,  and  already 
gaining  control  of  herself;  so  that  Mrs.  Winner 
was  able  at  once  to  examine  the  injury.  All 
the  delicate  forehead  was  scarlet  with  scalding, 
so  sore  that  even  mamma's  touch  was  painful. 
The  tea-kettle  was  bubbling  furiously,  and  a 
funnel-shaped  vapor  was  rising  from  its  mouth. 
Into  this  steam,  and  not  against  the  vessel  it- 
self, Gertie's  head  had  gone.  Her  injuries  were 
by  no  means  serious,  although  the  first  shock 
of  pain  had  been  so  severe  as  to  wring  that 
sharp  cry  from  a  child  who  would  suffer  a  great 
deal  rather  than  alarm  her  mother. 

Soothed  and  comforted,  the  wounded  brow 
treated  with  a  cooling  lotion,  and  a  white  band- 
age bound  around  her  head,  Gertie  lay  at  rest 
upon  the  lounge,  and  began  to  believe  that  she 
was  not  so  dreadfully  hurt  after  all.  Ever  since 
her  mother  had  said,  with  a  thankful  look,  "  My 
dear  child,  we  can  not  be  too  grateful  that  your 
eyes  are  uninjured,"  the  thought  of  the  trouble 


160  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

that  might  have  been,  made  the  trouble  that  was 
seem  very  small  indeed. 

"  I  'm  sorry  this  keeps  me  from  entertaining 
you,  Hilda,"  she  said,  with  noteworthy  polite- 
ness. "You  aren't  having  a  bit  good  time,  and 
it  is  all  my  fault." 

"  O,  why,  Gertie  Winner?  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  talk  so  !"  returned  her  cousin,  taking  a 
seat  at  her  side,  and  giving  her  a  look  of  heart- 
broken affection.  "  It  is  n't  your  fault  that  you 
burned  yourself,  when  you  were  making  choco- 
late creams  for  nothing  at  all  but  to  show  me 
how.  What  shall  I  do  to  amuse  her,  auntie? 
Gertie,  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  a  story?" 

."Well,  thank  you;  I  guess  you  needn't 
bother,"  said  the  patient,  stirring  uneasily. 
"  I  'm  not  near  sick  enough  for  that.  I  'd  feel 
pretty  well  if  my  head  did  n't  ache ;  and,  any- 
way, I  almost  do." 

The  truth  is  that  Hilda's  stories  were  never 
very  interesting.  Their  incidents  and  charac- 
ters were  easily  recognizable  as  borrowed  from 
her  cousin's  more  vivid  tales,  and  they  were 
constantly  interrupted  by  lengthy  pauses,  ex. 
ceedingly  tiresome  to  the  listener,  which  Hilda 
found  necessary  because  she  had  to  think  what 
to  say  next. 

"  I  'd  rather  play  than  listen  to  stories,  if  you 
do  n't  mind,"  Gertie  continued.  "  I  'm  sort  of 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  161 

nervous,  and  I  'm  afraid  I  could  n't  keep  still 
enough.  My  feet  want  to  punch  something  all 
the  time." 

"Well,  we  might  play  'Editor's  Office,'  "  re- 
turned Hilda,  reflectively.  "You  be  the  Editor- 
just  keep  still,  and  not  do  anything — and  I  '11 
write  something  and  bring  it  to  you,  and  you  '11 
see  whether  you  '11  print  it  or  not." 

"  Why,  I  never  played  that." 

Gertie  was  much  attracted  by  the  idea;  she 
sat  up,  with  her  face  full  of  interest. 

"  No,  I  did  n't,  either;  but  I  've  heard  Archer 
talk,  and  I  thought  it  might  be  a  real  nice 
game.  I  '11  have  to  have  some  paper  and  a 
pencil." 

"  You  will  find  both  in  the  upper  drawer  of 
my  writing-desk,"  said  Mrs.  Winner,  who  felt 
that  she,  too,  could  enjoy  the  play.  Gertie  never 
found  her  mother's  presence  embarrassing,  no 
matter  how  original  her  games  might  be : 
knights,  ladies,  flower-girls,  and  brigands — all 
the  well-known  heroes  and  heroines  of  ro- 
mance— raved  of  love  and  war  with  a  most 
amazing  lack  of  reserve.  But  if  any  other  grown 
person  entered  the  room,  the  imaginary  guests 
from  the  Middle  Ages  departed  at  once,  and  only 
a  quiet  child  was  left. 

"  Shall  I  take  this,  auntie  ?"  asked  the  would- 
be  author,  holding  up  a  block  of  ruled  note- 

ii 


1 62  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

paper.  A  little  gold  pencil  completed  her  outfit, 
and  made  her  feel  that  writing  with  such  a  pretty 
thing  must  be  easy  and  agreeable. 

"  What  must  the  Editor's  office  be  like?"  in- 
quired Gertie,  flying  excitedly  from  her  couch. 
The  charming  face  of  Gilbertina  caught  her  eye. 
That  neglected  maiden  was  resting  peacefully 
against  the  pillows  of  the  bed,  a  model  of  ele- 
gant composure. 

"  I  '11  have  Gilbertina  for  my  beautiful  blonde 
daughter — sha' n't  I?  A  sick  editor  ought  to 
have  some  one  to  take  care  of  him.  Now,  let's 
spread  the  Afghan  so  it  will  hang  over  the  side 
of  the  lounge  and  look  like  a  Turkish  rug.  I 
think  this  will  be  a  splendid  play." 

Hilda  helped  to  arrange  the  drapery,  and 
then  retired  to  her  writing.  The  editor  removed 
his  child's  hat  and  cloak,  and  laid  a  silk  chair- 
scarf  over  her  shoulders ;  then  cradled  her  in 
his  arms,  and  regarded  her  with  an  expression 
of  unutterable  woe.  Before  the  expected  contri- 
bution was  ready,  this  tragic  countenance  had 
been  several  times  disarranged  by  an  uncon- 
trollable yawn. 

"  Now,  I  '11  knock  on  this  chair,  and  you  can 
tell  me  to  come  in,"  said  Hilda,  rising  and 
shaking  out  her  skirts. 

"  No,  I  must  send  my  daughter.  Wait  a  min- 
ute, please.  You  do  n't  care  if  I  call  her  Amabel, 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  163 

just  for  this  evening,  do  you  ?  It  is  n't  chang- 
ing her  name;  just  playing  it's  something  it 
isn't;  like  you're  not  an  author  and  I'm  not 
an  editor." 

UO,  I  do  n't  care  the  least  bit,"  replied  Hilda, 
and  knocked  so  energetically  on  the  back  of  a 
rocking-chair  that  it  flew  precipitately  forward 
and  struck  her  wrist  in  its  return. 

"Amabel,  my  beautiful  blonde  daughter,  go 
to  the  door,"  groaned  the  Editor,  dismally, 
stretching  himself  hastily  on  his  back.  "  Now 
pretend  she  's  there,  Hilda,  and  I  '11  talk  for 
her." 

u  Good  evening,  my  dear  madam,"  squeaked 
an  infantile  voice,  supposed  to  belong  to  the 
charming  Amabel.  "Won't  you  please  come 
in  quick,  and  not  keep  the  door  open?  I'm 
afraid  my  papa  will  take  cold.  He  is  n't  very 
well  this  evening,  because  he  has  burnt  his  head 
on  the  tea-kettle,  but  he  '11  be  glad  to  see  you 
anyhow." 

"  I  just  thought  I  'd  show  him  something 
I  've  been  writing,"  said  the  visitor,  advancing 
toward  the  lounge.  "  How  do  you  do,  Editor  ? 
I  hope  your  head  doesn't  ache  too  bad  to  read 
this." 

"O  no;  my  eyes  aren't  hurt;  so  I  can  read 
it  just  as  well  as  not,"  returned  the  Editor,  ea- 
gerly extending  his  hand  for  the  manuscript. 


1 64  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  I  do  n't  know  as  there  will  be  any  paper 
this  week — not  if  I  don't  get  better  ;  I  can  tell 
you  that — but  next  week  I  '11  have  to  have  a  big 
one  to  make  up.  Is  this  a  story  or  poetry?" 

"It's  poetry,"  was  the  bashful  answer.  Now 
that  it  was  written,  Hilda  felt  a  little  reluctance 
to  let  even  Cousin  Gertie  see  her  production. 
But  she  yielded  the  tablet,  the  uppermost  sheet 
of  which  was  half  covered  with  penciled-lines. 
The  following  is  a  copy  of  what  Gertie  read : 

"  The  Months  of  Winter.  By  Hilda  B.  Craig,  aged  nine 
years  old. 

"  'T  is  Winter,  and  I  sorry  am 

That  such  the  case  it  is ; 
Yet  we  must  it  indure ; 

Ah,  Winter !  hard  indeed  it  is 
For  the  breaved  poor  !'• 

"^-reaved,  I  s'pose  you  mean,"  was  the 
first  criticism.  "Why,  Hilda,  what  do  you  call 
bereaved  poor? '" 

"  People  that  have  n't  enough  to  eat,  nor  any 
fire,  nor  anything,"  replied  the  poet,  kicking 
her  feet  discontentedly  against  her  chair.  Who 
likes  to  have  his  verses  examined  in  a  cold  and 
fault-finding  spirit? 

"I  don't  hardly  believe  that's  right,"  said 
Gertie,  glancing  at  her  cousin  out  of  the  corners 
of  her  eyes.  She  did  not  want  to  make  her 
feel  badly,  yet  her  mistake  ought  to  be  cor- 


CHOCOLATE  CREAMS.  165 

rected.  "I  always  thought  bereaved  was  not 
having  something  that  you  used  to  have." 

"  Well,  they  used  to  be  warm  enough  in  sum- 
mer time,"  was  the  triumphant  answer.  "Any- 
how I  don't  think  you're  talking  very  much 
like  an  editor.  Why  do  n't  you  tell  me  how 
you  like  my  poetry?" 

"Well,  Miss  Craig,  your  poetry  is  very  ex- 
ceedingly splendid,"  declared  Gertie,  assuming 
a  pompous  manner.  "  I  '11  be  sure  to  have  a 
paper  this  week,  so's  to  print  it  right  away. 
Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  ma'am.  I  haven't  any- 
thing at  all  to  do  except  stay  here  and  keep 
thieves  out.  If  it  wasn't  for  that,  I  'd  go  home." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  'd  better  not  stay  now ;  be- 
cause if  you  like  my  poetry,  I  expect  you  'd 
like  some  more,  and  that 's  all  that  is  written 
yet.  I  can  write  you  just  as  much  as  you  'd 
like  to  have;  it  isn't  very  hard." 

"All  right;  but  then  you  must  take  my  pa- 
per all  the  time,  and  give  me  the  money  for  it. 
Of  course,  when  it's  my  own  paper,  I  can't  let 
folks  write  in  it  for  nothing." 

The  clock  began  to  strike  at  this  moment, 
and  when  its  strokes  had  numbered  nine,  the 
Editor  kissed  his  mother  good-night  and  aban- 
doned his  office.  For  once,  at  least,  Gertie  was 
not  sorry  to  go  to  bed.  Pain  and  excitement  had 
made  her  feel  weak  and  tired. 


Chapter* 

A  TRAVELING  COMPANION. 

YET  when  her  room  was  darkened  and  she 
lay  in  bed,  her  eyes  would  not  stay  shut, 
nor  would  her  tongue  consent  to  be  still.  She 
had  stated  the  case  exactly  when  she  called  her- 
self "  sort  of  nervous."  Although  she  no  longer 
suffered  pain,  the  restlessness  of  her  body  and 
mind  was  its  result. 

"Let's  talk  awhile,  Hilda,"  she  suggested. 
"  I  want  to  ask  you  what  made  you  think  of 
playing  '  Editor's  Office.'  You  do  n't  know  any 
editors,  do  you?" 

"  No,  not  any  real  ones;  but  Archer  is  a  kind 
of  an  editor — the  kind  that  doesn't  print." 

"O,    I    didn't    know    that?"    Gertrude    ex- 
claimed.    "  Do  tell  me  all  about  it.     I  can  not 
sleep,  Hilda  Craig ;  and    you    can't  either,  can 
you?" 
166 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  167 

"  May  be  I  could,"  answered  Hilda,  eva- 
sively. 

At  any  rate  she  was  not  likely  to  sleep  at 
present.  Gertie's  curiosity  was  excited  and 
must  be  gratified  before  either  little  maiden 
slumbered.  Archer's  editing  was  one  of  the 
various  means  which  this  remarkable  boy  em- 
ployed to  occupy  his  spare  time. 

"  He  has  his  paper  every  week,  and  writes 
it  on  a  sheet  of  foolscap  paper,"  explained  his 
sister.  "  All  of  us  give  him  things  for  it — 
Blanche  and  Ernest  and  me — and  Rose  cuts 
pieces  out  of  the  newspapers  for  him  to  copy 
when  he  hasn't  anything  else." 

"  Do  you  write  for  a  real  true  paper,  your- 
self?" questioned  Gertie,  enviously,  and  with  a 
sudden  increase  of  respect  for  the  little  cousin 
whom  she  had  regarded  as  very  young  and 
inexperienced. 

u  I  do  when  he  can't  get  anybody  else," 
honestly  replied  Hilda.  "  If  Blanche  will  write, 
then  he  does  n't  want  me,  and  I  'd  rather  he 
would 'nt.  I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  do  it  at  all." 

"O,  I'd  like  to!"  cried  Gertie,  enthusiastic- 
ally, grasping  the  bedclothes  to  draw  herself 
into  a  sitting  posture.  This  caused  her  cam- 
panion  some  annoyance  ;  and  when,  a  moment 
later,  she  let  herself  fall  with  a  thump  upon  the 
pillows,  Hilda  groaned  and  wriggled  irritably. 


1 68  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  O,  my  darling  Angelica,"  exclaimed  Ger- 
tie, seizing  her  cousin's  hand,  "get  Archer  to 
let  me  write  for  the  paper,  won't  you  ?  Tell 
him  I'll  do  something  for  him  if  he  will." 

uYes,  I'll  tell  him,"  agreed  Hilda;  "but 
now,  Gertie,  hadn't  we  better  go  to  sleep?  To- 
morrow afternoon  I  'm  going  home,  you  know, 
and  I  '11  tell  Arch  just  as  soon  as  I  see  him. 
You  need  n't  be  a  bit  afraid  that  I  '11  forget." 

"  No,  do  n't  you,  please.  I  can't  go  to  sleep  ; 
but  I  '11  keep  still  and  think  up  the  splendidis- 
sest  story.  The  little  girl 's  name  is  Ivy,  Well, 
good-night." 

Hilda's  response  was  a  drowsy  murmur. 
The  poor  child  sank  to  sleep  almost  as  soon  as 
the  promise  of  quiet  was  given,  and  very  prob- 
ably could  not  have  kept  awake  five  minutes 
longer  even  if  her  cousin's  talking  and  jerking 
had  continued. 

Gertie  squeezed  her  eyelids  together,  pressed 
her  finger-tips  into  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and 
decided  at  once  that  Ivy  should  be  the  young- 
est of  six  sisters.  They  should  dwell  in  a  two- 
roomed  cottage,  and  carry  water  from  a  well 
three  miles  distant,  in  a  gloomy  and  tiger-in- 
fested forest.  The  delightfully  dreadful  possi- 
bilities of  a  daily  walk  through  such  a  thicket 
soon  soothed  her  into  unconsciousness. 

"  Afe-oo,    me-oo,"    was   the    remark    which 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  169 

broke  the  last  light  chains  of  Hilda's  slumber 
next  morning.  She  thought  it  sounded  like  a 
cat,  but  was  astonishingly  loud  ;  and  while  she 
still  wondered  where  the  animal  whose  voice 
she  heard  could  be,  Gertie  opened  her  eyes,  and 
began  to  laugh. 

"Hear  that  Quillup,"  said  she.  "He 
would  n't  come  into  the  house  last  night,  and 
now  he  's  hungry." 

A  knock  at  the  door  informed  the  girls  that 
breakfast-time  was  nearing.  There  was  a  fire 
in  the  grate,  burning  busily  at  a  heap  of  coals. 
Some  one  had  already  been  in  the  room  to  care 
for  their  comfort,  but  had  worked  so  noiselessly 
that  they  had  not  even  dreamed  her  near. 

"  It 's  ever  so  much  colder,"  said  Gertie, 
buttoning  her  shoes  on  the  hearth-rug.  "  That 
will  make  our  chocolate  creams  all  the  nicer. 
I  did  n't  count  them,  Hilda,  did  you  ?  but  I 
know  there  's  a  good  many." 

"  I  think  there  's  twenty-three,  and  Florence 
Atchinson  had  four  besides.  We  '11  have  them 
for  dessert  for  breakfast,  won't  we  ?" 

Hilda  paused  in  her  hair-brushing  to  wait 
with  some  anxiety  for  her  cousin's  reply.  She 
need  not  have  doubted  her  willingness.  Gertie 
gave  a  ready  assent,  and  nodded  violently  as  she 
hung  up  the  buttoner. 

The  melancholy  mewing  continued  until  they 


170  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

were  completely  dressed;  and  before  leaving  the 
room  they  flung  up  the  window  to  look  at  the 
repentant  wanderer.  He  redoubled  his  shrieks 
when  he  heard  the  raising  of  the  sash,  and  ran 
for  the  side  door  as  fast  as  three  white  legs  and 
one  black  one  could  carry  him. 

"Bad  cat!"  shouted  Gertie,  shaking  her  fist. 

Quillup  only  yelled  the  louder,  and  put  his 
front  paws  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  were  so 
wild  with  despair  that  he  thought  he  could 
climb  up.  An  amused  face  looked  from  a 
window  of  the  next  house,  first  at  the  cat,  and 
then  at  the  two  little  girls,  who  beat  an  imme- 
diate retreat.  They  did  not  like  to  be  laughed 
at.  Quillup  was  admitted  as  soon  as  they  went 
down-stairs,  and  showed  his  gratitude  in  his 
own  peculiar  fashion — by  rushing  hurriedly  past 
them,  and  hiding  behind  one  of  the  kitchen 
doors. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  Hilda  put  on  her 
wrappings  and  took  up  her  satchel.  Gilbertina 
was  in  Gertie's  arms,  for  the  cousins  would  part 
only  at  the  train.  People  soon  to  separate  are 
generally  supposed  to  have  a  good  deal  to  talk 
about,  yet  it  sometimes  happens  that  they  find 
little  to  say  to  each  other.  These  two  small 
people  had  been  very  happy  together,  and 
hoped  to  have  such  a  pleasant  time  soon  again ; 
yet  they  walked  along  the  street  in  silence, 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  171 

until  the  interesting  subject  of  the  doll's  name 
recurred  to  Gertie's  mind. 

"  I  do  n't  know  why  you  feel  so  about  call- 
ing her  something  else,"  she  began,  holding  up 
the  doll  before  its  owner's  eyes,  as  if  she  thought 
that  so  much  beauty  must  melt  the  stoniest 
heart.  "  She 's  too  pretty  to  be  spoiled  with 
such  a  name  as  Gilbertina,"  and  Gertie  made  a 
wry  face. 

"  Do  you  think  my  mamma  would  want  her 
called  anything  that  would  spoil  her?"  demanded 
Hilda,  throwing  back  her  head,  and  speaking  in 
a  tone  intended  to  be  withering. 

Any  reference  to  Gilbertina  was  sure  to 
affect  her  unpleasantly.  But  Gertie  was  not  a 
bit  crushed.  She  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  be 
sensitive. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  seriously;  "  but  grown- 
up people  do  n't  always  know  what  children  like. 
I  expect  your  mamma  keeps  on  thinking  that 
you  'd  rather  have  Gilbertina  than  any  other 
name,  and  here  are  you  and  I  real  worried 
about  it." 

Hilda  stared  hard  at  a  swinging  sign  across 
the  street,  but  she  was  thinking  of  something 
quite  different  from  it.  What  Gertie  had  said 
was  much  the  same  thing  as  that  which  her 
mother  had  tried  so  earnestly  and  lovingly  to 
impress  upon  her  some  time  before.  Mingled 


172  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME, 

with  the  mortification  which  made  her  eyelashes 
droop  to  her  cheeks  when  Gilbertina's  name 
was  mentioned,  came  the  misgiving  that  she 
was  not  acting  toward  her  mother  as  she  ought. 

"  You  can  do  something  that  I  can't,"  said 
Gertie,  abruptly.  "  I  just  could  n't  keep  from 
telling  my  mother  everything.  O,  it 's  so  nice 
to  talk  to  her !  One  reason  I  like  to  have  nice 
things  happen  is,  so  I  can  tell  them  to  her. 
And  if  anybody  is  hateful,  or  I  do  n't  have  a 
good  lesson  at  school,  I  begin  to  stop  feeling 
bad  as  soon  as  I  think  how  she  will  look  when 
she  knows.  Sometimes  after  I  've  gone  to  bed 
I  remember  something  I  've  forgotten  to  tell  her, 
and  then  I  can  hardly  wait  till  morning.  O,  I 
do  like  my  mother,  Hilda  !" 

"  Why,  of  course  you  do,"  said  Hilda, 
laughing. 

UO  no,  not  of  course,"  returned  her  cousin, 
earnestly.  "  You  mean  because  she 's  my 
mother;  but  that  isn't  the  only  reason.  It's 
because  she  's  my  mother,  you  know ;  but  it 's 
more  than  that,  too.  It 's  because  she  's  so  very, 
very  nice." 

Hilda  had  no  answer  ready  ;  therefore  she 
changed  the  subject.  Where  they  were  walk- 
ing the  pavement  was  thickly  strewn  with  yel- 
low and  brown  leaves,  that  rustled  as  they 
stepped  among  them.  "  It  will  take  a  lot  of 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  173 

people  to  clear  these  away  if  they  want  to  get 
it  done  before  the  snow  comes,"  she  observed. 

"  I  wish  they  would  n't  clear  them  away  at 
all,"  was  the  unexpected  reply.  "  I  like  to  see 
them." 

"  Do  you  ?"  asked  Hilda,  eying  the  leaves 
doubtfully,  and  trying  to  understand  this  singu- 
lar preference.  "Why?"  • 

"  O,  because  they  make  me  think  of  some- 
thing," Gertie  answered,  dreamily. 

"  What  do  they  make  you  think  of?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  n't  know.  But 
they  do  make  me  think  of  something,  and  it 's 
something  that  I  like." 

"It  is  funny  that  you  don't  know  what 
you  're  thinking  about,"  commented  Hilda. 
"They  won't  stay  as  nice  as  they  are  now,  you 
know.  When  it  rains,  the  mud  will  splash  all 
over  them,  and  they  '11  make  the  street  just 
awful.  You  do  n't  like  them  that  way,  do  you?" 

"No;  not  a  bit,"  Gertie  hastened  to  assure 
her. 

When  the  little  girl  with  the  big  doll  entered 
the  car  at  the  Lincoln  Street  Station,  more  than 
one  pair  of  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  with  pleasure. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  pretty  child  and 
such  a  pretty  toy  are  seen  in  each  other's  com- 
pany. But  every  seat  was  occupied,  and  the 
rows  of  comfortable  and  complacent  people  con- 


174  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

fused  the  timid  young  traveler  so  much  that  she 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  She  was  standing 
quite  motionless  in  the  aisle,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  floor,  and  her  face  flushing  with  em- 
barrassment, when  a  gloved  hand  touched  her 
lightly  on  the  shoulder,  and  a  pleasant  voice 
asked  :  u  Won't  you  come  and  sit  beside  me?" 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Hilda  to  see  what 
an  attractive  young  lady  had  spoken  to  her. 
She  was  plump  and  smiling,  with  soft  blue 
eyes,  and  loose  masses  of  light-brown  hair.  A 
tightly-fitting  black  cloak  covered  her  dress, 
and  a  music-roll  was  resting  upon  her  knee. 

"I  think  there  will  be  room  enough  for  all 
three,"  said  the  young  lady,  courteously  admit- 
ing  Gilbertina's  claim  to  consideration.  "What 
a  very  beautiful  doll  you  have,  and  how  prettily 
she  is  dressed !  She  looks  as  if  she  were  quite 
new;  is  n't  she?" 

"I've  only  had  her  just  since  last  Wednes- 
day," answered  the  child,  and  held  Gilbertina 
toward  her  new  friend  for  a  closer  inspection. 

The  offer  was  accepted  with  the  greatest 
readiness,  and  seemed  to  give  the  lady  much 
pleasure.  She  talked  on  in  tones  that  were 
carefully  kept  low.  Her  words  were  distinct, 
and  Hilda  was  glad  that  the  crowd  of  strangers 
could  not  hear  a  conversation  not  intended  for 
them  to  share. 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  175 

A  more  agreeable  young  lady  is  seldom  met. 
You  might  be  sure  from  her  face  and  manner 
that  she  meant  what  she  said — that  so  large 
and  lovely  a  doll  is  something  to  make  one 
really  grateful.  And  she  noticed  what  some 
people  would  have  passed  by  unobserved,  how 
nicely  the  ribbon  on  her  cap  matched  her  cash- 
mere cloak. 

"  Yes,  Blanche  did  it.  Blanche  is  my  sister," 
Hilda  shyly  replied.  "  You  do  n't  live  in  Haw- 
thorn, do  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  live  in  the  city  ;  but  I  am  now  on 
my  way  to  Hawthorn.  Is  that  where  you  live?" 

The  speaker  placed  Gilbertina  carefully  on 
the  seat,  and  looked  at  Hilda  as  if  something 
else  had  aroused  her  interest. 

"Just  since  two  weeks  ago.  Before  that  I 
was  born  in  Chicago,  and  lived  there  all  my  life. 
But  my  papa  wanted  to  move  his  store  to  this 
city,  and,  of  course,  we  could  n't  stay  so  far 
from  him." 

Hilda  was  getting  so  well  acquainted  with 
her  new  friend  that  she  gathered  courage  to  put 
a  question  which  had  been  floating  about  in  her 
brain  for  some  minutes.  With  a  glance  at  the 
music-roll  she  ventured  to  inquire : 

"Are  you  going  to  Hawthorn  to  take  a 
music-lesson  ?" 

"  No,  I  'm  going  to  give  one,"  the  lady  an- 


176  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

swered,  and  Hilda  involuntarily  turned  her  head 
to  look  into  the  face  at  her  side.  It  surprised 
her  to  hear  that  this  young  girl  was  a  teacher, 
for  she  seemed  scarcely  older  than  Blanche. 

"I'm  going  to  take  music-lessons,"  she  ob- 
served, with  apparent  irrelevance. 

"Are  you?"  asked  the  young  lady. 

She  looked  down  at  the  little  girl,  as  if 
there  was  something  else  she  wanted  to  say. 
For  a  minute  she  gazed  at  the  cliffs  past  which 
the  train  was  running.  They  were  covered 
with  thin  fragments  of  grayish-brown  stone,  and 
just  at  this  point  were  cleft  by  a  narrow,  precip- 
itous ravine,  through  which  tumbled  a  hurry- 
ing stream  of  coffee-colored  water.  When  she 
looked  back  again  she  said,  with  a  smile : 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  know  your 
name,  and  if  you  do  n't  mind  my  asking  it  I  will 
tell  you  mine  in  return.  It  is  Esther  Madison." 

"  Mine  's  Hilda  Craig,"  was  the  ready  reply. 
"Fred  Tomlinson  is  going  to  take  music-lessons 
too.  He  lives  next  door  to  us." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  about  him,  and  am  going  to 
see  Mrs.  Tomlinson  to-day.  Did  you  ever  hear 
Fred  play  on  the  piano?" 

"A  little,"  nodded  Hilda.     "O,  he  can  go  so. 
fast  you  hardly  hear  what  he  is  playing!     He 
says  he  knows  all  kinds  of  music ;  but  then  he  's 
been  taking  a  few  odd  years,  I  guess." 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  177 

Miss  Madison  did  not  seem  so  much  im- 
pressed by  this  information  as  Hilda  had  ex- 
pected. She  smiled  a  little,  but,  instead  of  ex- 
pressing admiration  of  Fred's  attainments,  she 
asked,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  keep  from  laughing  : 

"  What  does  '  a  few  odd  years  '  mean  ?" 

"Several,"  answered  Hilda,  rather  shortly, 
and  began  to  feel  uncomfortable  for  the  first 
time  since  she  had  taken  her  seat. 

A  fancy  for  repeating  words  and  expressions 
which  she  did  not  clearly  understand,  sometimes 
made  this  dear  little  girl  ridiculous.  It  would 
have  been  better  if  she  had  always  been  con- 
tent to  talk  like  a  child,  and  not  pretend  to 
know  as  much  as  older  people. 

Miss  Madison  observed  her  confusion  and 
felt  sorry  for  her.  She  tried  to  find  something 
else  to  talk  about,  and  it  was  not  her  fault  that 
she  suggested  the  very  sorest  subject  that  could 
possibly  have  been  touched. 

"  We  have  told  each  other  our  names,  but 
you  have  not  introduced  this  pretty  doll.  I  am 
sure  you  have  chosen  a  name  for  her  a  great 
deal  more  magnificent  than  either  of  ours." 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  said  Hilda,  hastily.  Then 
she  checked  herself.  After  a  short  pause  she 
began  again,  but  not  nearly  so  fast.  "  At  least 
I  do  n't  know  whether  you  '11  like  it  or  not.  It 

12 


1 78  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

was  my  uncle  that  gave  her  to  me,  and  his 
name  is  Gilbert.  So  Blanche  thought  I  ought 
to  name  her  after  him,  and  she  said  for  a  girl 
that  would  be  Gilbertina." 

"  So  this  is  Miss  Gilbertina  Craig,"  said  Es- 
ther, with  a  funny  little  bow  that  made  the 
child's  sober  countenance  light  up  with  a  smile. 
"  O,  Hilda,  this  makes  me  think  of  a  doll  that  I 
used  to  have,  and  I  think  I  must  tell  you  about 
it.  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  thing — not  more  than 
three  years  old,  at  the  very  most — and  I  had  al- 
ways plenty  of  dolls ;  for  I  was  the  youngest  of 
the  family,  and  had  my  sister's  old  toys,  as  well 
as  the  presents  that  came  to  myself." 

"  I  had  one  of  Blanche's,"  interjected  Hilda, 
quite  happy  again  ;  "but  I  was  only  a  baby,  and 
I  pushed  it  under  the  lattice  on  the  balcony  up- 
stairs, and  it  fell  on  the  bricks  and  smashed  its 
head.  Blanche ^did  n't  like  that." 

"  Well,"  went  on  Esther,  "  one  day  my  father 
brought  me  home  a  wax  doll,  with  its  head 
painted  to  look  as  if  it  had  yellow  hair  drawn 
up  very  high  and  tight.  I  had  a  sister  who  liked 
to  name  my  dolls,  just  as  Blanche  does  yours,  no 
doubt,  and  she  said  that  this  one  must  be  called 
Charlesine — from  Charles,  my  father's  name." 

"  Charlesine,"  Hilda  repeated. 

Involuntarily  she  was  comparing  the  name 
with  that  of  Gilbertina,  and  wondering  whether 


A  TRAVELING  COMPANION.  179 

it  were  quite  as  absurd.  It  would  have  relieved 
her  mind  to  think  so,  but  her  candid  opinion 
pronounced  it  much  prettier. 

"Poor  Charlesine!"  laughed  Miss  Madison. 
"One  day  I  left  her  on  the  hearth-rug,  and  my 
sister  stepped  on  her  head.  She  had  long  felt' 
a  great  desire  to  know  what  made  a  doll's  eyes 
open  and  shut ;  so  she  was  n't  a  bit  sorry  for 
what  she  had  done,  because  it  gave  her  a  chance 
to  find  out." 

"  But  was  the  doll  spoiled?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  did  n't  care  very  much  ;  I 
was  too  little.  My  sister  discovered  that  its  eyes 
were  bits  of  glass,  and  that  when  it  lay  down  on 
its  back  a  weight  dropped  in  its  head  and  pulled 
them  shut.  It  was  such  a  satisfaction  to  her  to 
know  this  that  I  am  really  glad  the  accident 
occurred. 

"  I  like  to  know  it,  too,"  said  Hilda,  con- 
vinced that  Miss  Madison  was  the  most  interest- 
ing young  lady  she  had  ever  met. 

The  car  was  stopping  now  at  the  Hawthorn 
depot,  and  Esther  insisted  on  carrying  Hilda's 
bag.  Archer  was  at  the  steps  to  help  his  sister 
off.  He  looked  very  much  surprised  when  a 
real  young  lady,  with  a  notably  business-like 
air,  put  a  satchel  into  his  hand,  saying,  briskly : 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  is  my  friend  Hil- 
da's brother.  You  take  the  lower  board-walk,  I 


i8o  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

understand,  and  I  take  the  upper  ;  so  we  shall 
have  to  separate  here,  but  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
again." 

Then  away  she  went,  with  a  firm,  rapid 
tread,  which  caused  Archer  Craig  to  gaze  after 
her  admiringly. 

Fred  Tomlinson  was  standing  outside  of  his 
father's  gate  as  the  brother  and  sister  passed. 
He  looked  quite  desolate,  for  he  had  just  quar- 
reled with  Ernest,  and  was  feeling  the  want  of  a 
playmate.  But  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  doll, 
whose  face  Hilda  was  hiding  against  the  furry 
trimming  of  her  coat,  it  sparkled  with  a  gleam 
of  animation. 

"  Hullo,  here  's  Gilbertina  Filbertina!"  cried 
the  pitiless  tease.  "  How  much  did  they  give  her 
for  showing  herself  off  in  the  museum  ?" 


MR.  PETERSON. 

'"PHE  morning  of  the  second  day  of  November 
1  was  white  with  frost.  An  ashy  mist  rolled 
in  long,  narrow  waves  from  a  pale-blue  sky, 
which  it  left  streaked  as  if  with  snow.  If  any- 
body thrust  his  head  through  a  window,  the 
chilly  breezes  ran  over  his  face  and  lingered  in 
his  hair,  making  him  feel  in  a  moment  that  he 
would  take  cold  if  he  did  not  withdraw  himself 
from  the  wind. 

Yet  the  front  door  of  Mr.  Craig's  house  was 
half  open,  and  while  one  boy  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  another  leaned  against  the  wall  out- 
side. They  were  whistling  in  unison,  long  prac- 
tice having  enabled  them  to  do  so  to  their  entire 
satisfaction,  but  kept  turning  their  faces  anx- 
iously toward  the  fence  which  divided  their 
home  from  that  of  their  nearest  neighbor. 

181 


1 82  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

In  the  hall  a  little  girl,  whose  ringlets  were 
shining  with  smoothness,  and  who  wore  a  de- 
lightfully fresh  white  apron,  found  it  utterly  im- 
possible to  keep  still.  She  entertained  herself 
by  mounting  to  the  third  step  of  the  staircase, 
placing  her  feet  carefully  side  by  side,  so  that 
the  ankles  touched,  and  jumping  to  the  floor. 
The  interest  of  this  amusement  grew  with  every 
repetition,  and  the  ascent  was  accomplished 
more  rapidly  each  time.  When  the  boy  in  the 
doorway  turned  round  and,  spoke  to  her,  the 
sudden  interruption  made  her  stagger  against 
the  balustrade. 

"  Say,  Hilda,"  he  remarked,  swinging  a  sil- 
ver watch,  "  why  don't  you  put  your  things  on? 
We  '11  have  to  hurry  like  fun  when  Fred  and 
Annie  come.  It 's  only  ten  minutes  to  school- 
time  now." 

"O  Arch,  is  it?"  cried  Hilda,  running  away, 
with  both  hands  pressed  against  her  dizzy  head. 

When  she  returned,  Fred  and  Annie  had  ar- 
rived ;  the  former  was  stamping  over  the  porch 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  As  Hilda  rushed 
hastily  out  and  Archer  banged  the  door,  he  re- 
marked, as  if  it  were  nothing  to  him,  that,  in 
his  opinion,  they  could  not  possibly  get  to  school 
before  it  opened.  Punctuality  was  a  virtue  much 
esteemed  in  the  Craig  family.  Accordingly, 
Fred's  observation  alarmed  all  the  children,  as 


MR.  PETERSON.  183 

he  intended  it  to  do.  Nevertheless,  Hilda  said, 
reprovingly,  to  her  brothers: 

"  Boys,  you  never  kissed  mamma  good-bye." 

"  Did,  too  ;  kissed  her  half  an  hour  ago,"  re- 
torted Ernest,  starting  down  the  steps.  An  in- 
stant later  Fred  Tomlinson  found  himself  walk- 
ing alone  behind  two  very  clean  and  stiff  little 
girls,  who  paid  him  no  attention  whatever. 
Both  the  other  youths  had  mysteriously  van- 
ished, but  soon  came  clattering  after  him,  pant- 
ing and  happy,  their  mother's  kisses  fresh  upon 
their  lips. 

This  gave  the  girls  quite  a  start,  for  Fred  had 
lingered  to  avoid  their  uninteresting  company. 

The  school  to  which  the  children  were  going 
had  been  chosen  for  them  because  it  was,  with 
the  exception  of  the  public  school,  the  only  one 
in  Hawthorn.  As  its  session  was  short,  Mr. 
Craig  preferred  it  to  one  which  would  keep  the 
scholars  at  their  books  all  day. 

Captain  Serenus  Peterson,  the  teacher,  was 
a  gentleman  who  had  tried  his  hand  at  various 
occupations,  without  seeming  to  derive  a  great 
deal  of  profit  from  any.  He  had  received  a  col- 
legiate education  and  entered  the  army,  which 
he  left  because  his  health  broke  down.  After  he 
had  been  a  clerk  in  one  house  and  a  salesman 
in  another,  a  friend  put  him  in  charge  of  a 
small  grocery-store  ;  but  his  natural  restlessness 


1 84  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

soon  demanded  a  change,  and  for  years  after- 
ward his  wandering  course  was  hard  to  trace. 
He  hung  about  Washington,  hoping  for  a  Gov- 
ernment office ;  went  to  Europe  as  secretary  for 
a  traveler  who  hoped  to  make  a  fortune  by 
means  of  a  book  descriptive  of  Holyrood  Castle, 
Mount  Vesuvius,  the  Swiss  resorts,  and  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  German  nation ;  and  finally 
arrived  in  Hawthorn,  where  he  immediately 
opened  a  school. 

This  event  occurred  in  March  ;  by  the  mid- 
dle of  May  he  had  twenty  scholars,  and  at  the 
end  of  June  he  gave  a  summer  vacation  to 
eleven.  He  did  not  lose  heart,  however,  but  in- 
formed the  faithful  remnant  that  the  school 
would  reopen  on  the  8th  of  September — on 
which  date  he  was  lying  ill  at  his  sister's  home 
in  Louisville,  having  succumbed  to  malarial  in- 
fluences. This  circumstance  made  the  vacation 
two  weeks  longer,  and  decidedly  increased  his 
popularity  among  the  few  pupils  who  were  per- 
mitted to  await  his  return. 

Hilda's  heart  was  beating  with  anticipation 
as  she  walked  along  the  narrow  bank  which 
bordered  the  rough  country  road.  It  was  her 
first  start  to  school ;  she  could  read  well,  and 
write  a  little  in  a  large,  round  hand ;  but  that 
was  about  the  extent  of  her  education,  and  she 
felt  that  she  had  a  great  deal  to  learn. 


.I//?.  J>ETE#SO.\\  185 

Alter  crossing  a  stream,  which  cut  directly 
under  the  road  and  fell  musically  over  a  slight 
descent  just  before  it  reached  the  bridge,  they 
began  to  climb  a  path  which  ran  like  an  up- 
ward-circling shelf  around  the  slope  of  the  hill. 
It  was  narrow  enough  in  certain  spots  to  make  a 
timorous  child  like  Hilda  draw  toward  the  inner 
side ;  but  her  companions  enjoyed  tramping 
along  the  edge  and  watching  loosened  bits  of 
pebbly  earth  plunge  down  among  the  ever- 
greens and  crackling  brown  weeds.  Far  below 
lay,  long  and  slender,  the  motionless,  dull-colored 
creek,  which  not  infrequently  overflowed  its 
bounds,  dashed  upon  the  roots  of  the  neighbor- 
ing oaks  and  maples,,  and  caused  the  thick  un- 
derbrush to  float  its  feeble  branches  on  a  murky 
pool. 

"There's  the  school-house,"  announced 
Annie. 

A  sharp  turn  to  the  right  had  brought  them 
in  sight  of  a  grassy  level,  clear  but  for  a  sprink- 
ling of  great  nut-trees  and  two  dark-red  frame 
buildings. 

These  latter  were  very  unequal  in  size,  and 
the  smaller  one  was  known  as  the  Peterson  In- 
stitute. It  had  been  built  for  a  doctor's  office, 
and  was  not  widely  separated  from  the  neigh- 
boring house.  There  the  teacher  had,  without 
difficulty,  secured  board  and  lodging,  and  had 


1 86  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

found,  in  the  vacant  office,  a  school-room  fully 
as  large  as  he  was  likely  to  require. 

"The  scholars  are  out  of  doors,  and  it's 
three  minutes  after  nine,"  observed  Archer, 
looking  at  his  watch. 

It  had  just  returned  from  one  of  its  frequent 
trips  for  repairs,  and  was  more  than  ordinarily 
precious. 

"Come  on,  boys!  Who'll  get  there  first?" 
shouted  Fred,  dashing  off  without  giving  his 
friends  a  fair  chance  for  a  start.  Notwithstand- 
ing this  dishonest  dealing,  they  reached  the 
group  as  soon  as  he  did.  Ernest,  in  spite  of  his 
clogging  arm,  was  so  light  and  quick  that  he 
found  himself  a  little  ahead. 

"Where's  the  old  man?"  puffed  Fred,  be- 
stowing upon  his  victorious  rival  a  kindly  nod  of 
commendation.  Fred  was  foolish  enough  to  be- 
lieve that  such  a  disrespectful  reference  to  his 
instructor  was  a  really  graceful  form  of  speech. 

"  He 's  late  again,  and  I  'm  pretty  near 
froze,"  grumbled  a  little  girl  with  a  large  nose 
and  straight,  yellow  hair.  She  had  her  hands 
in  the  pockets  of  her  jacket,  and  was  dancing, 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other,  to  keep 
herself  warm.  "  I  think  it 's  a  shame  to  have  to 
wait  out  here,  when  we  have  so  far  to  come,  and 
he  has  n't  at  all.  I  did  n't  hardly  finish  my 
breakfast,  I  was  in  such  a  hurry." 


MR.  PETERSON.  187 

A  boy  with  a  pale  face  and  a  very  nice  suit 
of  clothes  stepped  up  to  Archer.  He  was  one 
of  the  neatest  boys  ever  seen  ;  his  boots  well 
polished  and  his  hat  well  brushed. 

"Mr.  Peterson  is  my  father's  cousin,"  said 
he,  confidentially.  "It  is  awfully  hard  for  him 
to  get  up  in  the  morning.  Sometimes  Mrs. 
Worth  gets  so  tired  pounding  his  door  she  just 
gives  up  and  goes  away;  and  so  he's  late  for 
school.  He  never  means  to  be." 

"  Barn  Simeral,"  interrupted  Fred,  thrust- 
ing himself  between  the  two,  "  where 'd  you  get 
to  know  Archer  Craig  ?" 

"O,  I  thought  that's  who  it  was,"  returned 
Barnard,  easily.  "I've  seen  him  at  the  store; 
his  post-office  box  is  twenty-seven.  Well,  fel- 
lows, upon  my  word,  the  last  time  Mr.  Peterson 
staid  at  our  house  the  ham  and  beefsteak  all 
dried  to  splinters  waiting  for  him  to  get  up  to 
breakfast.  At  last  our  Carrie  went  into  the 
parlor  and  played  Hail  Columbia,  and  she  and 
Johnny  and  I  all  sang  it  as  loud  as  we  could 
yell.  That  fetched  him.  We  heard  his  feet 
come  thump  on  to  the  floor — 'cause  his  room 
was  over  the  parlor — and  I  stood  on  my  head 
against  the  double  doors,  and  Carrie  laughed  so 
she  fell  off  the  piano  stool," 

"You're  his  cousin,"  said  Fred.  "Why 
don't  you  go  over  and  rouse  him  up  ?" 


1 88  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"I'm  not  his  cousin!"  cried  Barnard,  indig- 
nantly. "My  father  is  his  cousin  ;  not  I.  He's 
'most  fifty  years  old." 

Hilda  was  not  talking  to  anybody  ;  she  was 
leaning  against  the  bole  of  a  tree  and  watching 
her  brothers  with  a  wistful  countenance,  while 
Annie  Tomlinson  flew  from  one  to  another  of 
the  strange  girls.  She  had  something  to  say 
to  each  in  turn,  but  made  none  of  them  ac- 
quainted with  her  friend,  though  all  stared  at 
her  curiously,  and  the  maid  with  the  yellow 
locks  asked : 

"Is  that  Hilda  Craig  that  came  with  you?" 

Presently  a  figure  in  a  woolly  overcoat  hur- 
ried toward  them.  It  was  a  man  with  a  light- 
brown  beard  and  a  thin,  anxious  face.  His 
height  was  less  than  the  average ;  he  was  very 
slightly  built  and  looked  delicate.  None  of  the 
children,  excepting  Barnard  Simeral,  offered 
him  a  morning  salutation,  and  he  only  nodded 
to  them.  Hastily  unlocking  the  door,  he  went 
straight  to  his  desk,  and  rang  the  little  silver 
call-bell  thereupon ;  then  kept  his  eyes  and 
hands  employed  with  the  arrangement  of  his 
books  while  the  scholars  were  taking  their 
places. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  man  has  had  a  bite  of 
breakfast,"  whispered  a  voice  in  Archer's  ear, 
and  Barnard  crowded  past  him,  knocking  him 


MR.  PETERSON.  189 

against  a  sharp  corner  in  his  effort  to  push 
through  the  doorway. 

The  school-room  presented  an  unconven- 
tional appearance.  A  revolving  arm-chair  and 
a  massive  desk  with  rolling  top  accommodated 
the  master  very  comfortably ;  for  the  pupils 
there  were  plenty  of  cane-seated  chairs,  but 
each  was  required  to  bring  his  own  desk.  This 
peculiar  exaction  had  not  been  made  known  to 
the  Craig  family,  three  members  of  which  were 
now  standing  against  the  wall,  very  red-faced 
and  abashed. 

"O!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Peterson,  glancing  up 
and  beholding  the  unhappy  trio.  He  knew 
who  they  were ;  their  father  had  made  arrange- 
ments for  their  attendance  ;  and  he  shook  hands 
with  them  now,  and  hoped  that  they  would  like 
the  school. 

"Have  you  any  old  tables — any  stands  or 
anything — at  home,  that  you  could  send  here? 
My  pupils  all  provide  their  own  desks;  we  are 
not  yet  quite  ready  to  fit  out  the  room." 

"  Just  any  old  table,  sir  ?"  asked  Archer,  who, 
although  it  was  five  years  since  he  began  to 
scribble  his  name,  age,  and  residence  through 
Osgood's  Spelling-book  and  Harper's  Geog- 
raphies, had  never  had  such  an  experience 
as  this. 

"Just  anything  at  all — anything  at  all  will 


190  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

do,"  replied  Mr.  Peterson,  looking  nervously 
around  the  room.  "  Madeline  Williams,  is  Helen 
Bland  coming  to-day?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  girl  with 
the  straight,  light  hair.  She  did  not  raise  her 
eyes  from  her  book.  Mr.  Peterson  gazed  at  her 
as  if  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  reprimand  her  for 
her  lack  of  respect,  but  would  much  rather 
not  do  so. 

"  It  is  so  late  now,  I  imagine  she  will  not  be 
here.  I  was  a  little  late  myself,"  confessed  poor 
Mr.  Peterson,  with  a  shadowy  smile.  "  So  you 
can  have  her  desk  for  to-day,"  and  he  indicated 
a  heavy,'  mahogany  table— a  handsome,  old- 
fashioned  piece  of  furniture  with  a  marble  top — 
which  was  located  near  a  window. 

It  was  oblong  in  shape,  and  soon  there  was 
a  boy  at  either  end  and  a  blushing  little  girl 
at  one  side.  Archer's  eyes  twinkled  with  fun ; 
almost  involuntarily  he  tapped  lightly  upon  the 
marble,  and  murmured,  in  a  tone  of  command: 

"Here,  waiter;  ice-cream  for  three." 

Mr.  Peterson  turned  his  melancholy  gaze  in 
their  direction,  but  said  nothing,  although  the 
fact  that  Ernest  was  shaking  with  laughter 
could  scarcely  have  escaped  his  notice.  A  girl 
who  was  just  entering  the  door  thought  that  he 
was  looking  at  her,  and  nodded  with  much  com- 
posure as  she  went  to  hang  up  her  hat  and  cloak. 


MR.  PETERSON.  191 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Peterson.  Has  school 
begun  already?" 

"You  are  late  again,  Helen — very  late,  in- 
deed," returned  her  instructor,  with  some  show 
of  annoyance.  "This  really  will  have  to  be 
stopped." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  rejoined  the  girl. 
"  I  could  n't  find  my  gloves,  and  Mrs.  Snider 
would  n't  let  me  come  without  them." 

She  stopped  short  at  this  point,  for  while  ad- 
vancing toward  her  desk,  the  amazing  fact  that 
three  strangers  were  grouped  around  it  and 
viewing  her  with  obvious  interest  had  filled  her 
with  astonishment. 

"Of  course  I  did  not  expect  you  at  such  an 
hour  as  this,"  said  Mr.  Peterson,  with  an  effort 
after  severity,  "  so  I  let  these  young  gentlemen 
and  this  young  lady  have  your  place.  We  will 
have  to  see  what  can  be  done." 

A  different  arrangement  for  the  boys  was 
effected  with  very  little  difficulty,  and  Hilda  re- 
mained as  Helen's  guest.  The  latter  shoved 
her  chair  noisily  over  the  floor  as  she  took  her 
seat,  spent  some  time  in  piling  her  books  into 
an  unsteady  tower,  drew  her  slate  to  her,  and 
began  to  write  upon  it  with  a  squeaking  pencil. 
Then  she  pushed  it  toward  her  companion,  and 
Hilda  read,  in  large  and  distinct  characters : 

"How  do  you  do?" 


192  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

When  she  lifted  her  eyes,  Helen  was  nod- 
ding energetically,  and  her  face  was  wreathed  in 
smiles.  To  such  a  polite  greeting  a  response 
was  necessary.  Hilda  grasped  the  pencil  and 
wrote  the  same  words,  since  she  could  think  of 
nothing  better  to  say,  inclosing  them  in  brackets, 
a  touch  of  elegance  which  produced  a  visible 
effect. 

The  impression  which  Archer  had  at  first 
received,  that  the  management  of  the  school 
was  novel  and  peculiar,  deepened  as  the  day 
wore  on.  Mr.  Peterson  had  a  cultivated  mind. 
He  was  a  man  of  books,  but  he  was  not  quali- 
fied for  a  teacher.  The  Craig  children  had  in- 
creased the  number  of  his  pupils  to  fifteen — six 
girls  and  nine  boys — and  I  do  not  know  how  he 
could  have  attended  to  any  more,  because  nearly 
every  one  formed  a  class  by  himself.  The  first 
hour  was  given  to  arithmetic,  and  when  the  last 
of  the  numerous  recitations  in  this  branch  of 
science  had  been  heard,  the  teacher  looked 
around  the  room  as  if  he  were  not  certain  what 
ought  to  come  next. 

"Archer  Craig,"  said  he  abruptly,  "I  think 
your  father  told  me  you  want  to  study  Latin." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  recovering  from 
the  start  which  this  unexpected  address  had 
occasioned.  "  I  'm  at  the  fifth  book  in  Caesar." 

"  O,  I    did  n't    understand   that ;    I   thought 


PETERSON.  193 

you  were  only  a  beginner,  and  could  go  in  with 
Barnard  Simeral."  Mr.  Peterson  had  a  helpless 
look.  "  Well,  I  shall  have  to  hear  you  alone. 
Probably  you  are  not  prepared  for  to-day.  Study 
as  much  as  has  been  your  custom,  and  be  ready 
to  recite  to-morrow."  % 

He  pulled  out  his  watch,  glanced  at  it,  and 
thrust  it  back  into  his  pocket.  It  was  only  ten 
minutes  after  ten ;  at  half-past  that  hour  the 
pupils  were  to  have  a  recess  of  five  minutes, 
"  merely,"  so  their  teacher  had  elegantly  ex- 
plained, "  to  break  the  too  severe  strain  of  un- 
interrupted application  to  books." 

At  present  the  children  did  not  seem  to  be 
injuring  themselves  by  excessive  study.  There 
was  not  an  idle  one  among  them,  unless  it 
might  be  the  new-comers  ;  all  the  rest  were  dili- 
gently employed  in  more  or  less  profitless 
amusement.  Barnard  Simeral  was  drawing  a 
pig  on  the  fly-leaf  of  his  new  Latin  grammar ; 
a  boy  with  a  sooty  nose  was  making  faces  at  a 
little  maid  in  spectacles  ;  Helen  Bland  was  con- 
scientiously dog's-earing  every  page  in  her 
Fourth  Reader;  and  two  other  girls  were  whis- 
pering together  behind  a  big  geography. 

"  Ernest  is  going  to  begin  Latin,  sir,"  sug- 
gested Archer.  Mr.  Peterson  brightened. 

"  O,  very  well.  Then,  Barnard,  you  and 
Ernest  bring  your  books  and  come  up." 


194  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

As  there  was  no  lesson  to  hear,  only  a  few 
explanations  to  be  made,  he  found  time  before 
half-past  ten  to  listen  to  the  class  in  the  First 
Reader,  consisting  of  a  boy  of  five  and  a  girl  of 
six.  Then  the  bell  tingled,  and  a  rush  for  the 
door  resulted.  Helen  rose  and  faced  Hilda, 
who  was  rising  also. 

"  What 's  your  name  ?"  demanded  the  former, 
without  any  circumlocution. 

"  Hilda  Craig." 

"  Mine  is  Helen  Bland.     How  old  are  you  ?" 

"  Nine,"  answered  Hilda,  happy  that  she  did 
not  have  to  say  eight. 

"Well,  I'm  eleven.  Don't  let's  go  out  of 
doors ;  let 's  just  stay  here,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
who  the  girls  are,"  said  Helen,  resuming  her  seat. 
"  That 's  Adela  Williams,"  pointing  to  the  large- 
nosed  damsel,  who  was  "  smoothing  down  her 
yellow  hair  "  with  the  comb  which  kept  it  from 
covering  her  face. 

"Adela!"  exclaimed  Hilda.  "Why,  I 
thought  Mr.  Peterson  called  her  Madeline." 

"  He  calls  her  that  almost  nearly  all  the  time. 
O,  but  does  n't  it  make  her  mad  ?"  chuckled 
Helen.  "  She  's  tried  every  way  to  make  him  stop, 
but  it  seems  as  if  he  can't.  In  spelling-class  she 
gets  him  to  hear  us  out  of  her  book,  and  it's  got 
ADELA  Williams,  with  two  lines  under  it,  writ- 
ten at  the  top  of  every  page.  And  all  of  us  girls 


MR.  PETERSON.  195 

talk  and  talk  about  Adela,  and  say  her  name 
very  hard  whenever  he  comes  around." 

"I  like  Madeline  for  a  name,"  observed 
Hilda,  who  found  the  truth  in  this  case  rather 
disappointing. 

"  Well,  but  you  would  n't  want  it  if  it  was  n't 
yours,  would  you?  I'm  sorry  all  my  life  that 
I  was  n't  named  Lauretta  (is  n't  that  the  sweetest 
name  ?)  but  I  would  n't  allow  anybody  to  call 
me  anything  else  but  Helen.  Over  there,  get- 
ting a  drink  of  water,  with  glasses  on,  is  Cecie 
Phillips.  She  has  to  study  harder  than  the  rest 
of  us,  because  she  's  going  to  be  a  teacher.  You 
know  Annie  Tomlinson ;  and  that  little  girl," 
Helen  made  a  grimace,  "that's  Ruth  Raymond. 
She  's  anything  but  nice.  A  regular  little  prig, 
that  would  faint  if  she  tore  her  dress.  Now, 
what  do  you  think  of  that,  Hilda,  when  she 
is  n't  quite  six  years  old  ?" 

"Well,  I  think  it  is  queer,"  replied  Hilda, 
and  before  anything  else  could  be  said  the  bell 
rang,  and  eighteen  noisy  boots  tramped  into  the 
room. 

The  scholars  brought  their  lunch,  and  ate  it 
during  a  noon  intermission  half  an  hour  in 
length,  while  their  teacher  dined  at  his  board- 
ing-house. At  half-past  one  they  were  out  of 
school  for  the  day. 

Hilda  and  Helen  picnicked  upon  the  marble- 


196  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

topped  table,  elegantly  provided  with  stiff  paper 
napkins  torn  from  Helen's  copy-book.  They 
shared  egg  sandwiches  and  sponge-cakes,  and, 
having  cut  an  orange  into  halves,  were  just 
ready  for  the  last  course  when  Adela  Williams 
implored  them  to  come  out  and  play  Desert 
Island. 

They  offered  no  objection,  for  the  name 
sounded  most  attractive.  At  the  side  of  the 
school-house  a  rope  swing  was  fastened  to  the 
bough  of  a  walnut-tree.  Adela  explained  that 
each  was  in  turn  to  tumble  from  the  swing — 
regarded  in  the  light  of  a  sinking  ship — and 
drop  to  the  bottom  of  the  hollow  which  lay  close 
at  hand.  She  herself  went  first,  that  the  others 
might  understand  exactly  how  to  proceed,  fell 
gracefully  from  the  rope,  made  several  wild 
clutches  at  the  branches  far  above  her  head,  and, 
rolling  down  the  slope,  lay  perfectly  still. 

Cecie  Phillips  followed.  She  was  a  large, 
heavily-built  girl  of  thirteen,  not  equal  to  the 
gymnastic  feats  of  her  lighter  companions ;  but 
she  entered  heartily  into  the  sport,  and  made 
her  way  laboriously  to  the  spot  where  Adela 
lay.  Annie  rolled  after  her. 

"You  go  next,  Hilda.  You're  my  precious 
little  sister  that  I  will  see  safe  before  I  ever  try 
to  save  myself,"  cried  Helen,  lugging  her  friend 
to  the  swing. 


MR.  PETERSON.  197 

Hilda  was  not  particularly  delighted  with 
the  role  assigned  her,  for  what  she  called  "  play- 
ing baby  "  was  her  especial  dislike.  Neverthe- 
less, any  part  in  this  new  game  was  exciting. 
Her  descent  to  the  desert  island  which,  contrary 
to  all  accepted  ideas,  lay  lower  than  the  sea-level, 
was  accomplished  so  easily  and  gracefully  that 
Adela  received  her  with  a  hug. 

But  Helen's  performance  bore  away  the 
palm.  She  stood  upright  in  the  swing,  and 
twirled  herself  around  until  the  rope  was  tightly 
twisted.  At  this  interesting  moment  it  broke, 
and  the  star  performer  fell  with  all  her  weight 
upon  her  admiring  companions.  Cecie  extri- 
cated herself  with  a  groan,  Adela  screamed,  and 
Helen  lay  like  a  block  of  wood,  having  decided, 
with  praiseworthy  presence  of  mind,  that  she 
was  nearly  drowned,  and  must  await  resusci- 
tation. 

"  My  beloved  sister  has  fainted!"  cried  Hilda, 
misunderstanding  her  intention.  "  Has  any- 
body got  a  fan  ?  Yes,  here  is  one  in  a  trunk 
that  has  lost  its  lid,  but  everything  in  it  is  as 
good  as  new,"  and,  breaking  a  switch  from  a 
blackberry-bush,  she  flapped  it  about  the  suf- 
ferer's face  in  a  way  that  soon  brought  her  to 
life. 

"Ruth  Raymond  isn't  rescued  yet,"  said 
Adela,  observing  a  small  face  peering  scornfully 


1 98  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

down  at  thein.  "Catch  hold  of  the  end  of  the 
rope,  Ruth,  and  roll  down." 

"I  wouldn't,"  replied  Ruth,  with  a  superior 
air.  "The  ground  is  muddy,  and  you'  dwesses 
will  be  all  spoiled."  And  she  walked  away, 
followed  by  a  jeering  laugh. 

"Truly  though,  girls,  we  '11  take  cold  if  we 
do  n't  get  up  right  away,"  said  thoughtful  Cecie. 
"  What  do  you  want  us  to  do  now,  Adela?  Make 
a  fire  and  dry  our  clothes?" 

"Yes,  we  must  do  that  first,"  agreed  Adela, 
glad  to  have  assistance  in  planning. 

A  pile  of  sticks  was  speedily  collected,  but 
the  lighting  was  purely  imaginary.  The  play 
progressed  finely ;  for  all  were  well-read  in 
"  Swiss  Family  Robinson."  It  occurred  to  Cecie 
at  last  that  this  noon  half-hour  had  never  before 
seemed  so  long. 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Peterson  now !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  What 's  the  matter  with  him,  girls? 
He  looks  as  cross  as  a  bear." 

Mr.  Peterson  did  look  cross,  and  worried 
too.  He  paused  only  a  moment  to  say: 

"Girls,  come  in  and  get  to  work  at  once," 
in  a  tone  much  harsher  than  he  was  accustomed 
to  use  ;  then  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  back 
to  the  school-house. 

Not  a  boy  was  there  when  they  entered;  but 
Mr.  Peterson  called  a  class  without  making  the 


MR.  PETERSON.  199 

least  reference  to  the  absentees,  who,  in  about 
ten  minutes,  came  stealing  softly  in.  Some  of 
them  looked  frightened,  and  all  a  little  ashamed. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Peterson,  when  his  watch 
told  him  it  was  time  for  dismissal,  "  will  the 
boy  who  stole  my  bell  walk  -up  and  return  it  to 
my  desk?  The  boy  who  stole  it,  I  say,"  he  re- 
peated, with  a  cruel  emphasis  upon  the  ugly 
word ;  "  for  it  was  nothing  less  than  theft  to  come 
in  here  while  I  was  absent,  and  remove  an  arti- 
cle upon  which,  as  you  well  know,  I  am  de- 
pendent." 

The  fall  of  bits  of  coal,  loosened  by  heat, 
could  be  heard  within  the  stove.  Mr.  Peterson 
sat  waiting,  his  sad,  tired  face  turning  from  side 
to  side,  with  a  pathetic  expression  of  inquiry. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  he  said,  dryly,  "  that  'ob- 
stinacy in  this  affair  will  avail  nothing.  Imme- 
diately after  dismissal  I  shall  search  your  desks, 
and  if  the  bell  is  not  discovered,  shall,  without 
delay,  inform  your  parents." 

An  anxious  whispering  began  in  one  corner. 
Then,  to  the  amazement  of  the  curious  girls,  a 
long,  lank  figure  stumbled  up  the  aisle — a  figure 
almost  six  feet  tall,  its  tiny  head  covered  with 
short  black  curls.  It  was  Franky  Chester,  a 
youth  of  eighteen,  whose  body  had  far  outgrown 
his  mind.  His  vacant  face  wore  a  sheepish 
grin,  as  he  placed  before  his  teacher  the  miss- 


200  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

ing  bell.  Over  Mr.  Peterson's  face  swept  a 
startling  change  ;  surprise,  pity,  and  anger  were 
all  mingled.  The  sharp  orbs  of  Helen  Bland 
assured  her  that  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  The 
boy  lingered,  twisting  his  fingers,  looking  up  at 
the  ceiling  and  down  at  his  feet  by  turns,  until 
the  master  said  quietly : 

"  You  may  go  to  your  seat,  Franky." 

Then  he  began  to  smile,  and  went  back 
with  the  same  uneven  gait  which  had  brought 
hitn  to  the  desk.  On  the  way  he  nodded  his 
head,  giving  a  low,  pleased  chuckle,  toward  a 
boy  with  smoothly  brushed  hair,  and  shoes  that 
were  remarkably  clean  and  shining  considering 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  racing  over  a  soil  but 
recently  soaked  with  rain.  This  boy  did  not 
seem  to  notice  Franky's  nod  ;  he  was  very  busy 
with  his  books. 

When  Mr.  Peterson  spoke  again  his  voice 
was  very  stern. 

"  There  is  in  this  room  a  boy  who  is  more 
contemptible  than  I  would  have  believed  any 
scholar  of  mine  could  be — a  boy  who  not  only 
will  stoop  to  foolish  and  reprehensible  practical 
jokes,  but,  having  committed  them,  will  shove 
the  burden  of  blame  upon  one  whose  peculiar 
affliction  ought  to  make  him  an  object  of  ten- 
derness and  respect." 

There  was    so   much    feeling  in  his  tone,  so 


MR.  PETERSON.  201 

much  dignity  in  his  manner,  that  every  one  in 
the  room  was  impressed.  Helen  laid  down  her 
head  and  began  a  loud  sobbing ;  her  nerves 
were  easily  affected.  Hilda  stared  at  her  broth- 
.ers,  vaguely  wondering  whether  there  was  any 
reason  for  being  frightened ;  and  she  saw  Archer, 
lips  very  white,  but  head  high  and  shoulders 
well  squared,  leave  his  place  and  walk  up  to  his 
teacher.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  speak,  any 
one  might  see  that,  but  Mr.  Peterson  gave  him 
no  help. 

"  I'm — I  'm  partly  to  blame,"  Archer  began, 
in  a  quick  voice.  The  gaze  which  was  bent 
upon  him  did  not  soften ;  its  severity  seemed  to 
sting  him  into  courage.  "Mr.  Peterson,"  he 
said,  boldly,  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  one  of 
the  leaders  in  what  was  done,  and  I  '11  take  any 
punishment  you  may  think  best." 

"That  is  all  very  well,  Archer.  So  far  as 
the  first  misdemeanor  is  concerned,  this  confes- 
sion goes  a  long  way  toward  covering  your  fault. 
But  how  about  your  conduct  toward  Franky 
Chester?  Was  it  manly,  do  you  think?" 

"It  was  horrid!"  the  boy  burst  out.  "But, 
Mr.  Peterson,  I  never  meant  to  let  him  bear  the 
blame.  We  got  him  to  take  the  bell  just  be- 
cause he  was  the  only  fellow  in  the  room ;  the 
rest  of  us  were  outside  when  we  made  up  our 
minds,  and  we  called  to  Franky  to  bring  it  out. 


202  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

If  I  had  known  he  would  walk  up  when  you 
asked  us,  I'd  have  told  him  he  mustn't  think 
of  it." 

This  ingenuous  confession  made  the  teach- 
er's lips  twitch  a  little,  but  his  smile  was  faint 
and  soon  gone.  Archer  did  not  observe  it. 

"  I  did  n't  know  Franky  had  the  bell,  but  I 
feel  like  a  sneak  when  I  think  how  it  has  turned 
out.  Whatever  you  say  I  must  do,  sir ;  I  '11  be 
glad  to  do  it.  I  can't  feel  worse  than  I  do 
now." 

The  boy  looked  really  noble ;  there  was  such 
earnestness  in  his  face,  such  a  lovely  light  of 
truth  beaming  from  his  eye.  I  know  that  Mr. 
Peterson  admired  him,  and  that  something 
stirred  the  man's  heart  as  it  was  wont  to  stir 
when  he  read  of  heroes  who  have  battled  for  the 
right  and  loved  justice  better  than  life  itself. 

"  Shake  hands  with  me,  Archer.  I  do  not 
wish  to  punish  you  ;  your  conscience  has  al- 
ready done  that.  I  want  to  thank  you,  because 
you  have  lightened  my  heart.  You  have  made 
it  possible  for  me  to  feel  again  the  hope  for  and 
interest  in  my  boys  which  I  had  so  nearly  lost. 
As  for  the  rest  of  you,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
school,  "  each  knows  for  himself  how  far  he  is 
to  blame.  The  trick  which  you  played  upon 
me  was  an  unworthy  one,  but  it  was  of  a  boy- 
ish and  thoughtless  nature.  I  was  angry  at 


MR.  PETERSON.  203 

first,  because  it  gave  me  serious  annoyance. 
Boys  will  be  boys,  and  we  older  people  some- 
times have  to  make  an  effort  to  remember  the 
fact.  But  no  such  excuse  can  be  made  for  him 
who  used  as  a  cat's-paw  one  whose  very  inno- 
cence he  made  an  instrument  of  evil.  He  may 
perhaps  congratulate  himself  on  his  successful 
deceit  when  I  say  that  I  shall  not  try  to  dis- 
cover the  wrong-doer.  That  there  is  one  chief 
offender  I  am  certain.  Archer  Craig  was  sur- 
prised that  the  bell  should  be  in  Franky's  posses- 
sion— some  one  knows  who  put  it  there.  That 
is  all.  You  have  had,  this  afternoon,  an  ex- 
ample of  just  and  honest  behavior ;  may  it 
work  to  your  profit !" 

He  gave  the  signal  for  dismissal,  and  began 
to  arrange  his  desk.  All  through  his  speech 
Hilda  had  been  gazing  at  her  brother  with  a 
heart  full  of  pity  and  eyes  full  of  woe — an  ex- 
hibition of  love  which  Archer  found  very  annoy- 
ing. He  said  to  himself  that  he  did  wish  she 
would  stop  staring  at  him. 


Chapter* 

A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH. 

THERE  was  a  comfortable  assembly  in  Mr. 
Craig's  library  that  evening.  The  weather 
had  grown  cold  enough  to  make  a  brightly- 
lighted  and  thoroughly-warmed  room  a  most 
agreeable  place.  The  father  of  the  family  sat 
reading  on  one  side  of  the  wide,  heavy  desk 
which  marked  the  center  of  the  apartment,  and 
his  oldest  daughter  sat  reading  on  the  other 
side.  They  seemed  to  be  very  much  absorbed 
in  their  books;  the  unsubdued  chattering  of  the 
group  beside  the  fire  did  not  disturb  them  in 
the  least. 

Uncle  Gilbert  was  the  principal  figure  of 
this  group.  He  sat  in  a  straight-backed  rock- 
ing-chair, with  Hilda  upon  his  knees.  Ernest 
lounged  upon  the  rug  at  his  feet,  and  the  two 
children  were  giving  an  unabridged  account  of 

the  day's  adventures  at  school. 
204 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  205 

Two  members  of  the  household  were  not 
there.  In  her  own  room  Mrs.  Craig  was  talking 
with  Archer.  There  was  no  lamplight ;  the 
grate  was  ruddy  with  hot  coals,  and  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn  aside  to  let  the  room  fill  with 
the  radiance  of  the  moon. 

Archer  had  been  telling  his  mother  all  about 
the  prank  in  which  he  had  played  a  leading  part, 
and  the  unexpected  trouble  into  which  it  had 
plunged  him.  She  knew  what  a  stranger  like 
Mr.  Peterson  could  not  know — that  the  boy  was 
incapable  of  imposing  on  one  who  was  weaker 
than  himself;  and  therefore  she  understood 
perfectly  the  shame  and  sorrow  into  which  the 
accusation  had  plunged  him. 

"  Now,  mother,"  he  said,  his  self-respect  re- 
covered through  her  sympathy,  "  do  n't  you 
think  it  is  queer  that  I  should  have  got  into  such 
a  fix  without  doing  anything  to  deserve  it?  I 
do  n't  just  blame  Mr.  Peterson ;  I  see  well 
enough  how  it  must  have  looked  to  him  ;  but 
how  did,  things  get  twisted  so  it  came  to  look 
that  way?" 

"  Do  you  mean  how  did  the  bell  come  into 
Franky  Chester's  hands  ?  I  do  not  know  that, 
my  dear,  nor  do  you." 

Archer  started,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  a 
strange  expression. 

"O,  mother!"  he   exclaimed,    "I   can't  help 


206  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

thinking  I  do  know.  At  any  rate,  I  know  who 
was  going  to  hide  the  bell  in  his  desk — he 
carried  it  under  his  coat  when  we  went  in — and 
he  whispered  to  Franky  just  before  he  started 
up.  But  I  do  n't  see  how  anybody  could  be  so 
mean,  and  he  seemed  like  a  first-rate  fellow." 

The  boy  heaved  a  deep,  troubled  sigh.  After 
a  short  pause  he  went  on  : 

"  But  I  did  n't  mean  that.  What  I  meant 
was  that  I  did  n't  do  such  a  contemptible  thing, 
and  yet  Mr.  Peterson  believed  that  I  did.  It 
wasn't  anything  very  bad  to  hide  the  bell;  it 
was  only  a  joke.." 

"  Is  it  nothing  more  than  a  joke  to  take  that 
which  does  not  belong  to  you,  Archer?" 

The  question  was  put  very  quietly,  yet  there 
was  a  meaning  in  it  which  did  not  escape  the 
boy.  He  drew  his  hand  from  the  arm  of  his 
mother's  chair  as  if  it  had  been  stung,  and 
looked  at  her  with  honest,  reproachful  eyes,  full 
of  amazement  and  pain. 

"You  wouldn't  call  that  stealing, .mother? 
We  never  meant  to  keep  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  my  boy,  that  I  could 
think  for  a  moment  that  you  did?  And  yet 
you  were  guilty  of  theft.  It  is  a  cruel  word, 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  spare  your  feelings.  The 
disgrace  which  overtook  you  was  a  lesson 
which  you  have  failed  to  understand,  and 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  207 

which,  therefore,  I  must  try  to  explain.  Were 
you  not  stealing  from  your  teacher,  even  though 
you  meant  to  restore  his  property  before  long  ? 
It  was  his  during  the  few  hours  that  you  kept 
it,  as  well  as  at  any  other  time." 

"Yes,  it  was,"  agreed  a  smothered  voice; 
"but  I  never  thought  before  that  such  a  thing 
was  stealing." 

"No,  dear,  and  for  that  reason  I  blame  you 
very  little.  You  meant  no  wrong.  But  I  want 
my  boy  to  be  honest  in  that  which  is  least.  I 
want  him  to  have  such  a  fine  sense  of  honor 
that  the  tiniest  fraud  will  wound  it." 

"So  do  I!"  exclaimed  Archer.  His  mind 
was  following  hers,  and  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  pure,  strong  character  which  she  believed 
he  would  attain.  "  But,  mother,  how  shall  I 
keep  from  making  mistakes  ?  You  say  you 
do  n't  blame  me  much,  because  I  did  n't  think 
I  was  doing  wrong.  But  next  time  maybe  I 
won't  think  so,  either ;  and  I  would  n't  feel  so 
mean  again — not  for  a  good  deal." 

His  mother  smiled — with  amusement,  but 
also  with  pride  and  joy.  She  laid  her  hand  on 
the  crisp,  brown  curls,  and  it  rested  there  like 
a  benediction.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  speak, 
but  Archer  did  not  wonder  at  her  silence.  He 
had  a  hushed  feeling ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  were 
offering  up  a  prayer  for  him. 


208  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Dear  Archer,"  she  said  at  length,  "when 
a  person  understands  that  ignorance  of  the  right 
is  itself  a  fault,  he  is  very  near  to  wisdom.  I 
am  full  of  hope  for  you,  because  I  am  sure  that 
you  love  what  is  good.  Now  let  me  teach  you 
a  simple  rule — one  that  the  smallest  child  could 
follow,  as  well  as  my  wise  and  manly  boy." 

"Yes,  mother." 

"  It  is  only  this:  never  do  what  you  are  un- 
willing to  confess.  Do  n't  you  see  how  such  a 
rule  would  have  saved  you  to-day  ?  If  Franky 
Chester  had  not  gone  forward  with  the  bell, 
would  you  have  made  known  your  share  in  its 
disappearance?" 

"  No,"  replied  Archer,  honestly,  "I  would  n't. 
I  thought  we  could  put  it  back  after  school,  and 
he  never  would  know  who  had  taken  it," 

"But  why  did  you  not  wish  him  to  know?" 

"  Why,  because  " — a  sudden  flush  rushed 
over  the  candid  face — "  because  he  would  be 
sure  to  be  angry.  O,  mother,  it  does  sound  like 
such  a  mean  thing  to  say!" 

"And  it  is  a  mean  thing,  Archer.  By  your 
own  act  you  made  an  enemy  of  truth.  Do  you 
see  now  that  you  were  wrong  from  the  first,  and 
might  have  known  that  you  were  wrong?  You 
deliberately  trampled  upon  the  rights  of  your 
teacher,  causing  him  annoyance  and  mortifica- 
tion ;  that  was  in  itself  a  dishonest  act.  And 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  209 

immediately,  without  knowing  it,  you  were  num- 
bered among  those  who  love  darkness  better 
than  light,  for  it  had  become  your  interest  to 
conceal  the  truth." 

Archer's  head  sank  lower  and  lower ;  he 
could  not  look  into  his  mother's  eyes.  But  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his,  and  went  on  : 

"  Dear  Archer,  I  think  a  great  deal  about 
your  future  life.  Whether  it  be  long  or  short,  I 
want  it  to  be  honorable  to  yourself  and  satisfac- 
tory to  God.  I  want  you  to  be  brave,  diligent, 
and  kind ;  but,  more  than  anything  else,  I  want 
you  to  be  true.  Truthfulness  is  the  only  foun- 
dation of  genuine  worth.  There  are  many  peo- 
ple who  would  be  shocked  at  a  great  deception, 
yet  do  not  hesitate  to  practice  small  ones.  Be 
such  a  lover  of  the  truth  that  your  tongue  will 
refuse  every  utterance  which  is  even  tinged  with 
falsehood,  and  will  never  consent  to  be  silent 
when  it  ought  to  speak.  Be  the  champion  of 
truth,  Archer;  be  truth's  knight." 

"Mother,  I  will,"  he  answered,  and  the  ring 
in  his  voice  proved  that  he  gave  a  faithful  heart- 
promise.  "I'm  so  glad  we've  had  this  talk  to- 
gether. I  always  wanted  to  be  truthful,  and  I 
believed  I  was ;  but  now  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
there  never  was  a  day  when  I  did  n't  come  pretty 
near  to  a  lie.  Why,  it  is  so  easy ;  you  do  it  with- 
out thinking." 

H 


210  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  will  have  to  be  always  on 
the  watch.  It  is,  as  you  now  understand,  a  dif- 
ficult thing  to  preserve  a  white  and  spotless  con- 
science. But  you  are  a  knight  whose  King  is 
certain  of  victory.  If  you  are  truth's  knight, 
Archer,  who  is  your  King?" 

His  eyes  gave  the  answer,  but  his  lips  trem- 
bled so  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"  Christ  says,  'I  am  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life,'  "  solemnly  repeated  Mrs.  Craig. 

Archer  never  forgot  that  conversation.  How 
could  he,  when  it  was  for  him  the  beginning  of 
a  new  life  ?  He  could  not  remember  the  time 
when  he  had  not  been  obedient  to  his  parents, 
and,  heedful  of  their  commands,  trying  to  do 
right.  But  a  light  dawned  upon  him  that  even- 
ing which  never  faded  from  his  sky.  He  was  a 
regularly-enlisted  soldier  in  the  great  battle  of 
the  world. 

The  next  morning  was  so  cold  that  the  three 
Craig  children,  accompanied  by  Fred  Tomlinson, 
mounted  the  hill  with  no  waste  of  time.  Annie 
decided  to  shorten  her  walk  by  taking  the  route 
she  had  mentioned — "  through  the  yards  of  two 
girls  that  I  know;"  but  Hilda  preferred  to  go 
with  her  brothers.  When  she  reached  the 
school-room  she  found  it  warm  and  cheerful,  the 
sun  pouring  through  the  windows  and  seconding 
the  efforts  of  the  fire.  All  the  other  girls  were 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  211 

there  before  her.  Helen  Bland  seemed  to  have 
turned  over  a  new  leaf;  for  she  and  Ruth  Ray- 
mond were  established  in  chairs  near  the  stove, 
and  their  wraps  hung  upon  the  wall.  Cede, 
Annie,  and  Adela  were  still  shivering ;  their 
faces  were  red  from  the  bites  of  the  wind ;  they 
were  stamping  their  feet  and  rubbing  their 
hands  on  one  side  of  the  stove,  while  a  crowd  of 
boys  performed  in  like  manner  on  the  other. 
Mr.  Peterson  was  writing  at  his  desk.  He  did 
not  lift  his  head,  nor  show  in  any  way  that  he 
felt  the  steady,  earnest  gaze  with  which  Archer 
regarded  him  all  the  way  up  the  aisle. 

Helen  made  a  rush  upon  Hilda. 

UO,  Hilda  Craig,"  she  cried,  seizing  both  her 
hands  and  kissing  her  bright,  cold  cheek,  "  I 
think  you  're  the  cutest  girl  I  ever  saw.  Do  sit 
with  me  again  to-day,  won't  you?" 

"I  guess  I'll  have  to,  if  you  don't  care," 
answered  Hilda,  releasing  her  hands,  and  hold- 
ing them  before  her  face  to  shield  it  from  the 
blazing  fire.  "  Papa  is  going  to  buy  us  some 
desks  in  town,  but  they  can't  get  here  before 
evening." 

"Well,  what  did  you  bring  for  lunch?"  in- 
quired Helen,  suddenly  rushing  from  the  senti- 
mental to  the  practical.  "I  brought  some  of 
those  mango  pickles  that  I  told  you  about ;  had 
to  tease  awfully  for  them,  too.  But  I  told  Mrs. 


212  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Snider  all  about  you,  and  that,  if  she  did  n't  let 
me  have  them,  you  'd  think  they  were  n't  as 
good  as  I  said,  and  she  was  ashamed  of  them." 

"  But  I  should  n't,"  protested  Hilda,  shocked 
to  think  what  an  idea  of  her  disposition  the  un- 
known Mrs.  Snider  must  have  received. 

"  Ho,  she  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I  only 
said  it  to  make  her  laugh." 

Barnard  Simeral  was  standing  so  close  to 
Archer  that  their  shoulders  touched;  but  he 
kept  his  face  turned  away,  looking  steadily 
through  the  window.  He  had  left  school  in  a 
great  hurry  the  day  before,  not  stopping  to  speak 
to  any  one ;  and  now  Archer  wondered  whether 
he  had  taken  offense  at  conduct  so  different  from 
his  own.  There  was  no  enmity  in  Archer's 
heart,  but  he  felt  timid  because  he  was  not  cer- 
tain of  the  other's  feelings.  While  he  was  still 
wondering  what  he  ought  to  do,  and  wishing 
that  Barnard  would  turn  around,  Mr.  Peterson 
rang  his  bell,  and  for  an  instant  their  eyes  met. 
Archer  was  ready  with  a  friendly  nod  and  smile ; 
but  he  could  not  decide,  as  he  went  to  his  seat, 
whether  Barnard  had  returned  his  greeting. 
There  was  no  smile  on  the  boy's  face ;  that  was 
certain.  There  was  an  odd  look,  which  might  be 
called  either  sullen  or  troubled,  just  as  one  hap- 
pened to  interpret  it. 

The  lessons  went  on  more  smoothly  to-day. 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  213 

Mr.  Peterson  was  much  less  confused,  but  his 
face  was  sadder;  or  else  Archer  noticed  it  more 
closely  than  before.  The  boy  was  beginning  to 
find  a  fascination  about  the  schoolmaster,  who 
had  at  first  appeared  so  ridiculous.  His  quiet 
manner  seemed  really  dignified. 

Franky  Chester  was,  of  course,  solitary  in 
all  his  studies.  He  stood  beside  the  black- 
board, a  tall,  lank  figure,  with  sunken  chest  and 
bending  neck,  while  Mr.  Peterson  read  aloud  a 
simple  sum.  Then  he  began  to  write,  forming 
the  figures  very  carefully. 

"A  man  bought  two  cows,"  announced  the 
teacher,  book  in  hand.  "  Each  cow  cost  twenty- 
five  dollars.  How  much  did  the  two  cows 
cost?" 

Franky  wrote  down  the  figures,  drew  a  line 
beneath  them,  and  was  instantly  lost  in  thought. 
He  was  a  pathetic  object ;  the  simple,  earnest 
creature,  so  intent  upon  his  duty ;  a  man  al- 
ready in  stature,  but  never  to  be  more  than  a 
child  in  mind. 

Mr.  Peterson  waited  awhile  ;  but  as,  at  the 
end  of  five  minutes,  his  tall  scholar  showed  no 
symptom  of  readiness,  he  decided  to  improve 
the  time  by  hearing  the  class  in  the  Fourth 
Reader.  The  selection  for  the  day  was  "  Bruce's 
Address  to  his  Army,"  a  selection  delightful  to 
Adela  Williams,  who  possessed  a  romantic  and 


214  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

warlike  spirit.  When-  her  turn  came  to  read  a 
few  lines  she  rose  in  haste,  repeated  the  Scotch 
words  as  if  she  loved  them,  instead  of  hesitat- 
ing, stumbling,  and  making  faces,  as  her  class- 
mates had  done,  and  finished  with  a  fiery  and 
scornful 

"Traitor!  coward!  turn  and  flee!" 

Here  her  emotions  so  overcame  her  that  a 
resounding  stamp  of  her  stout  pebble-goat  shoe 
emphasized  the  exhortation.  Mr.  Peterson 
smiled,  and  so  did  some  of  the  children.  Adela 
was  quite  unconscious  of  her  demonstration,  and 
took  her  seat  with  glowing  cheeks  and  spark- 
ling eyes. 

"Have  you  got  that  yet,  Franky?"  asked 
Mr.  Peterson,  while  the  class,  flapping  their 
books,  marched  down  the  aisle. 

"Yes,  sir,"  a  deep  voice  responded,  and 
Franky  falteringly  began  : 

"If  a  man  bought  two" — here  he  paused, 
stared  anxiously  at  the  board  and  shook  his 
head.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  quite  forgot- 
ten the  nature  of  the  purchase. 

"Cows,"  suggested  his  teacher. 

"  If  a  man  bought  two  cows,  and  each  cow 
cost  twenty-five  cents,  two  cows  would  cost 
fifty  cents,"  Franky  finished  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, yet  stood  staring  doubtfully  at  the  board, 
as  if  he  did  not  believe  the  solution  correct,  al- 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  215 

though  with  all  his  going  through  the  calcula- 
tion he  could  not  see  where  the  fault  lay. 

"  Rather  cheap  cows,"  observed  Mr.  Peter- 
son, with  a  smile;  and,  as  if  his  remark  were  a 
signal  for  which  all  had  been  waiting,  a  chorus 
of  laughter  filled  the'  room.  It  startled  the 
teacher  and  his  class  of  one.  Franky  turned 
from  the  board,  and  faced  his  schoolmates  with  a 
gentle,  foolish  smile;  Mr.  Peterson  frowned,  and 
rapped  the  desk  with  his  lead-pencil. 

Archer's  first  impulse  was  to  look  at  Barn- 
ard. He  knew,  in  a  hot  flash  of  feeling,  that 
he  could  not  help  being  angry  if  Barnard  were 
laughing.  But  although  Barnard  was  looking 
directly  at  poor,  puzzled  Franky,  there  was  not 
a  gleam  of  amusement  on  his  dark  face,  which, 
drawn  by  some  influence,  turned  in  an  instant 
toward  the  boy  who  was  watching  him  so 
closely.  Something  like  defiance  changed  his 
countenance,  and  he  twisted  his  lips  into  a  con- 
temptuous smile. 

Ernest  had  a  double  share  of  pie  that  noon, 
for  Archer  would  not  stay  to  eat  his  piece.  He 
had  seen  Barnard  Simeral  slip  out  of  the  room 
alone,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could 
not  rest  any  longer  without  trying  to  make  him 
speak.  Indeed  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
never  before  felt  so  eager  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  one  who  showed  a  disposition  to  ignore 


216  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

him,  and  he  could  not  explain  the  feeling  to 
himself.  It  was  the  first  growth  of  the  seed 
sown  in  his  soul  on  the  preceding  evening. 

Barnard  was  leaning  against  the  wall  just 
outside  the  doorway,  slowly  eating  a  piece  of 
gingerbread.  The  fixed  -gazed  with  which  he 
regarded  the  top  of  a  leafless  walnut-tree  a  short 
distance  away  suggested  a  scientific  interest  in 
the  twisting  of  its  twigs. 

"Hullo,  Barn!"  exclaimed  Archer,  a  jolt 
of  his  neighbor's  elbow  assisting  his  words  to 
announce  his  presence. 

He  felt  nervous  and  even  timid  ;  it  required 
an  effort  of  his  will  to  make  his  tongue  move. 
Barnard  brought  his  eyes  leisurely  from  the  tree- 
top  to  the  anxiously  pleasant  face  beside  him. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  responded,  coldly. 

His  manner  was  very  grave  and  aristocratic. 

"  Let's  take  a  walk  up  the  hill  a  piece,"  sug- 
gested Archer,  blandly.  "I  don't  believe  I  care 
about  standing  here  ;  it's  likely  to  give  a  fellow 
a  cold." 

Barnard  stooped  to  brush  a  crumb  of  ginger- 
bread from  his  neat  shoe.  Then,  without  an- 
swer, he  began  to  walk,  and  Archer,  gladly 
recognizing  this  tacit  and  ungracious  consent, 
kept  at  his  side. 

"I  suppose  we  shall  have  snow  pretty  soon," 
said  Archer,  although  there  was  nothing  to  sug- 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  217 

gest  such  a  probability  just  then.  The  sky  was 
serenely  blue,  looking  lovingly  at  them  through 
a  lace-work  of  black  boughs  which  was  woven 
over  the  whole  slope. 

"Where's  the  best  place  to  slide?"  he  con- 
tinued, as  his  companion  did  not  speak.  "I 
hope  I  can  keep  from  getting  mad,"  he  whis- 
pered to  himself,  "  but  I  feel  awfully  like  it." 

"Arch  Craig,"  said  Barnard,  turning  ab- 
ruptly upon  him,  "what  did  you  do  that  for 
yesterday?" 

"Do  what?"  Archer  was  about  to  inquire, 
but  he  checked  the  unnecessary  question  on 
the  tip  of  his  tongue.  "  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
bravely,  "you  mean  about  my  telling  Mr.  Peter- 
son I  helped  to  take  away  the  bell." 

"  Of  course  I  mean  that,"  rejoined  Barnard, 
a  dull  light  of  resentment  in  his  eyes.  "  You 
took  a  nice  way  to  show  off;  now  did  n't  you? 
And  not  a  bit  of  use  in  it,  either.  Mr.  Peterson 
did  n't  say  a  word  to  '  Seven  Footer.' '  This 
was  the  humorous  title  which  the  lads  had 
chosen  to  bestow  upon  Franky  Chester.  "  He 
went  right  to  blowing  the  rest  of  us  up." 

"  O,  that  wasn't  why  I  did  it,"  cried  Archer, 
catching  eagerly  at  a  chance  to  disclaim  a  too 
lofty  motive  for  his  conduct.  "  I  knew  he 
would  n't  hurt  Franky,  or  blame  him,  either. 
But,  do  n't  you  see,  I  was  all  broke  up  at  seeing 


21 8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

that  poor  silly  fellow  walk  up  there  as  innocent 
as  a  rabbit ;  did  n't  know  that  anybody  had 
done  anything  wrong;  just  sort  of  thought 
there  was  some  fun  somewhere.  It  went  down 
my  back  like  a  cold  streak  of  lightning.  I  was 
that  surprised  I  kept  saying,  '  Hullo !  hullo !'  to 
myself,  before  I  knew  what  I  was  doing." 

"  Uinph,"  sneered  Barnard.  "  Who  took  the 
bell,  if  it  was  n't  that  loony  Seven  Footer?" 

Archer's  excitement  cooled.  He  glanced  at 
his  companion's  sulky  face,  and  pressed  his  lips 
together  before  he  spoke  again. 

"You  and  I  were  talking  about  it  the  first  of 
all,"  he  said,  quietly. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  add,  "  And  you,  Bar- 
nard, suggested  the  prank  to  me." 

"Well,  I  say  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself," 
Barnard  raised  his  voice,  and  his  features  worked 
angrily.  "  And  you  've  put  me  in  a  pretty  nice 
position,  too.  You  said  you  did  n't  know  Franky 
had  the  bell." 

"Neither  I  did." 

"  No ;  you  knew  I  had  it,  and  I  s'pose  you 
went  and  told  that  I  had." 

"Look  here,  Barn,"  said  Archer,  quietly  still. 
"  I  won't  stand  that.  You  know  I  did  n't  tell." 

"  Know  you  did  n't  tell  right  then,"  Bar- 
nard almost  shouted,  for  he  was  losing  all  con- 
trol of  himself;  "but  I  don't  know  that  you 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  219 

did  n't  tell  afterward.  Or,  any  rate,  you've  told 
your  folks  at  home." 

"Honestly,  Barn,  I  haven't  told  a  solitary 
person,"  said  Archer,  very  earnestly.  "  I  would  n't 
be  so  mean.  Now,  do  you  think  I  would  ?  Do 
you — for  a  fact  ?" 

The  angry  boy  felt  the  influence  of  this  manly 
self-restraint. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  wouldn't,"  he 
said,  gloomily.  "  No,  I  don't  believe  you  would. 
But  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  go  back  on  all  the  rest 
of  us  the  way  you  did." 

"  I  'm  sorry  if  you  think  I  went  back  on  you. 
I  do  n't  think  there  was  any  going  back  about 
it,  for  I  only  told  on  myself.  Mr.  Peterson  must 
know  all  the  boys  were  in  the  joke,  because  we 
all  came  into  the  room  together ;  but  if  he 
knows  any  more,  he  got  it  from  some  one  else 
than  me." 

There  was  a  silence.  Barnard  began  to  walk 
faster.  Archer  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked 
at  it,  remembering,  with  disappointment,  that  it 
was  at  least  five  minutes  slow.  The  half-hour 
of  freedom  was  almost  gone. 

"  Barn,"  began  Archer,  in  a  changed  voice, 
"  I  feel  gladder  every  minute  that  I  told  on  my- 
self, and  you  'd  be  happy  too  if  you  'd  own  up." 

"  Who  said  I  was  n't  happy  now  ?"  demanded 
Barnard,  gruffly. 


220  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Well,  nobody  said  so,"  admitted  the  other, 
a  little  abashed  ;  "  but  I  did  get  the  notion  some- 
how, from  the  way  you  act.  You  know  it  really 
was  n't  fair  to  steal  Mr.  Peterson's  bell  away, 
when  it  takes  such  a  little  thing  to  put  the  poor 
man  out ;  and  he  's  behaved  like — like  a  regular 
good  fellow,  I  think." 

It  was  just  that  which  Barnard's  active  con- 
science had  been  telling  him  all  day.  He  knew, 
better  than  the  other  scholars,  the  genuine  up- 
rightness and  tender,  kindly  heart  of  the  man 
whose  imperfections  were  more  plainly  to  be  seen 
than  his  many  good  qualities.  All  day  long  Mr. 
Peterson  had  been  very  gentle  to  him,  but  the 
sadness  never  left  his  face. 

"Let's  go  back,"  said  Barnard,  briefly. 

He  slackened  his  pace  when  they  reached 
the  school-house  door.  It  was  a  hint  for  his 
companion  to  stop  there,  and  Archer  understood. 
There  was  a  noise  inside  the  building,  as  if  a 
number  of  boys  were  enjoying  themselves  unre- 
strained ;  but  he  lingered  without  while  he 
watched  his  late  companion  cross  the  little  space 
of  dark  ground,  strewn  with  decaying  leaves, 
which  separated  the  school-house  from  its  larger 
neighbor.  Then  he  went  in.  A  circle  of  chairs, 
resting  upon  their  sides,  inclosed  the  leaping  and 
writhing  forms  of  Ernest  and  another  boy  of  his 


A  KNIGHT  OF  TRUTH.  221 

age;  and  Fred  Tomlinson,  standing  just  outside 
the  pretended  cage,  was  shaking  his  teacher's 
ruler,  and  rattling  off  a  glib  speech  to  an  admir- 
ing throng  of  spectators. 

"Walk  right  in,  Mr.  Craig,"  he  shouted. 
"  Crowds  turned  away  daily.  Come  in  and  see 
the  only  genuine  Wild  Men  of  Borneo.  They  're 
the  terror  of  the  neighborhood ;  but  we  've  penned 
them  up  at  last." 

Ernest  made  a  spring  toward  his  brother, 
lost  his  balance,  and  fell  over  the  wall  of  chairs. 
Fortunately  it  was  his  sound  arm  which  went 
under,  but  the  fall  hurt  him  enough  to  make 
him  sober  and  sulky,  and  to  end  the  game.  He 
walked  to  the  far  side  of  the  room,  and  the 
other  Wild  Man  kicked  his  way  out  of  the  cage, 
and  followed,  leaving  the  showman  to  put  things 
in  order.  Fred  went  good-naturedly  to  work, 
with  the  remark  that  you  could  n't  expect  sav- 
ages to  behave  like  white  men,  and  Archer  lent 
his  assistance  unasked. 

"Well,  I  never  did!"  suddenly  ejaculated  Fred, 
when  the  task  was  completed,  and  he  had  time  to 
look  out  of  the  window.  "Now,  you  see,  Arch, 
I  was  n't  giving  you  chaff  when  I  said  Mr.  Peter- 
son was  partial.  There  he  is,  walking  all  around 
with  Barn  Simeral,  and  looking  as  pleasant  as 
pie.  Barn's  giving  himself  airs,  I  should  remark. 


222  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

He  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  us  fellows 
to-day ;  but  you  'd  think  he  was  ten  feet  high  to 
see  him  now.  Here  's  the  way  he  looks." 

And  Fred  threw  his  shoulders  back,  held  his 
face  upward,  and  stretched  his  mouth  in  a  grin 
of  such  enormous  size,  that  it  certainly  could 
not  have  been  becoming  to  any  one  smaller  than 
the  giant  whom  he  declared  Barnard  resembled. 


Chapter 

HELEN   AT  HOME. 

SCHOOL  was  not  out  till  two  o'clock  to-day. 
This,  as  the  Craig  children  now  learned, 
was  the  case  every  Tuesday  and  Friday ;  for  on 
those  days  'fcthe  professor  "  came  from  the  city 
to  give  instruction  in  French  and  penmanship. 
The  "  professor "  was  a  very  busy  man,  the 
favorite  French  teacher  of  the  neighborhood, 
but  a  warm  personal  friendship  had  secured  his 
services  for  Mr.  Peterson's  school. 

"Now,"  said  Helen  Bland,  as  she  tramped  on 
Hilda's  toes,  and  tumbled  the  latter's  hat  and 
cloak  on  the  floor  in  an  attempt  to  be  extraor- 
dinarily polite,  and  hand  her  friend's  wrappings 
gracefully  down,  "  you  're  going  straight  home 
with  me.  Did  you  know  it  ?" 

"O  no,  I  can't,  Helen.  Mamma  won't  know 
what  has  become  of  me  anyhow,  we  're  so  late. 
I  've  got  to  hurry  home  just  as  fast  as  ever  I  can.'* 

223 


224  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Why,  you  needn't  rush  yourself.  If  she 
was  scared  out  of  her  senses,  she  'd  have  sent 
up  to  find  out." 

"  O,  I  don't  think  she's  scared  out  of  her 
senses,"  returned  Hilda.  "  It  is  n't  that.  I  'in 
afraid  she  '11  think  I  've  been  kept  in ;  and 
would  n't  that  be  dreadful?" 

Hilda's  raised  eyebrows  and  drawn  lips 
showed  that  it  was  indeed  a  fearful  thought  to 
her.  It  was  the  boast  of  her  brothers  and  sis- 
ters that  not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  "  kept 
in,"  and  Hilda  felt  that  she  could  never  hold  up 
her  head  if  punishment  so  disgraceful  should 
fall  to  her  lot. 

"  Ho  !"  cried  Helen,  laughing  Iteartily,  "what 
an  awfully  funny  little  thing  you  are !  Nobody 
hardly  ever  gets  kept  in  here  ;  but  when  I  went 
up  to  the  public  school  I  was,  often  and  often." 

"  Not  really,  truly  kept  in,  Helen  ?" 

"Indeed,  upon  my  word,  I  was,"  replied 
Helen,  with  unnecessary  earnestness.  "  Two 
or  three  times  a  week,  at  any  rate ;  until  I  just 
made  up  my  mind  I  could  n't  stand  it.  It  took 
up  too  much  of  my  time." 

Hilda  wondered  how  the  required  change 
was  brought  about — whether  Helen's  behavior 
improved,  or  her  teacher  was  reasoned  out  of 
the  mistake  of  punishing  a  girl  who  had  not 
time  to  be  punished — but  before  she  could  put 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  225 

her  thoughts  into  form  of  a  question,  Annie  called 
her  from  the  door. 

"Are  you  going  home  to-day  or  to-morrow, 
Hilda?  I  won't  wait  any  longer." 

"  Well,  you  need  n't,  Miss  Tomlinson,"  re- 
turned the  ever-ready  Helen.  "Hilda  isn't 
going  with  you;  she's  going  home  with  me." 

"O,  is  she?" 

The  green-eyed  monster  peeped  out  between 
Annie's  dark  lashes.  She  looked  so  crestfallen 
that  Helen  added,  with  the  air  of  one  confer- 
ring a  great  favor : 

"You  may  come,  too,  if  you  like." 

"But,  Helen,  truly  and  honestly,  I  can't  go, 
unless  I  go  home  first  and  tell  mamma!"  cried 
Hilda,  agonized  between  her  desire  to  accept  the 
invitation,  and  her  determination  not  to  distress 
her  mother. 

"O,  if  that 's  what  you  want,  I'll  go  home 
with  you  while  you  ask  her,"  was  the  accommo- 
dating reply.  "  I  can  just  as  well  as  not." 

"If  you  will,"  said  Hilda,  delightedly,  "I'll 
be  just  as  much  obliged  as  ever  anybody  was. 
"  I  'm  sure  she  '11  let  me  go." 

So  the  three  walked  down  the  hill  together; 
Annie  a  little  gloomy  at  first,  but  soon  recover- 
ing her  spirits,  because,  as  she  Tiad  decided  to 
make  one  of  the  party,  she  might  as  well  enjoy 
herself.  Blanche  Craig  caught  sight  of  them 

15 


226  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

just  as  they  reached  the  home  gate,  and,  with 
her  hand  on  the  latch,  stood  smilingly  waiting. 
Although  the  fact  has  not  before  been  mentioned, 
Blanche  also  was  going  to  school.  Every  morn- 
ing she  went  to  the  city,  and  she  was  just  now 
returning  thence  for  the  day. 

The  three  little  girls  saw  a  slender  young  lady, 
very  neatly  and  prettily  dressed  in  garnet  and 
black,  with  a  few  nicely  bound  books  on  her 
arm.  She  saw  three  children  of  very  unequal 
sizes,  with  untidy  hair,  and  cloaks  blowing  open 
over  wrinkled  white  aprons,  jolting  along  side 
by  side. 

"Why,  Hilda!"  she  cried  out  in  her  pleasant- 
est  tones,  with  a  smile  for  each  of  her  sister's 
companions,  "is  it  possible  you  are  just  getting 
home?  I  do  hope  you  haven't  been  kept  in." 

"There,  I  told  you  what  everybody  would 
say,"  declared  Hilda,  with  a  grieved  look.  "  I 
have  not  been  kept  in,  Blanche.  You  know  very 
well  I  would  n't  be.  We  've  got  to  be  this  late 
every  Tuesday  and  Friday — so  's  to  study  writ- 
ing and  French." 

"O,  French — I'm  glad  of  that!"  said  Blanche, 
holding  the  gate  open  lor  the  little  ones  to  pass 
in.  "  And  I  do  hope  you  have  a  good  teacher. 
At  Miss  Stilewell's  we  have  a  splendid  one- 
Professor  Clavel.  He  is  considered  the  best  in 
the  city." 


HEL  EN  A  T  HOME.  227 

"  Why,  Professor  Clavel  is  our  teacher !"  re- 
turned Annie,  who  found  herself  walking  at 
Blanche's  side,  while  the  two  others,  in  their  de- 
sire to  keep  in  a  straight  line,  were  rising  above 
their  companions  on  the  higher  ground  which 
bordered  the  path. 

"  Is  he?  Really  I  am  pleased  to  hear  that.  I 
want  our  children  to  be  well  grounded  in  French, 
for  I  believe  it  to  be  a  most  valuable  accom- 
plishment." 

Annie  thought  Blanche's  way  of  speaking 
very  absurd ;  for  she  knew  Miss  Craig's  age  to 
a  day,  and  regarded  her  as  very  little  older  than 
the  "  children "  who  were  her  brothers  and 
sister. 

"Come  -into  the  library,  Hilda;  I  want  to 
show  you  something,"  Blanche  said,  as  she 
opened  the  front  door. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  there,  sitting  by  the  fire,  book 
in  hand,  wondering  why  Hilda  was  so  late.  She 
n\ade  the  fire  burn  up  brightly,  and  summoned 
the  four  girls  to  gather  about  the  grate.  They 
all  looked  cold,  but  healthfully  so  ;  their  cheeks 
were  red  and  their  eyes  brilliant.  Hilda  was  on 
one  side  of  her  mother  in  an  instant,  and  Helen 
came  shyly  to  the  other.  Something  about 
Mrs.  Craig  attracted  the  wHd  little  creature  at 
once. 

"  Helen   wants    me    to    go    home   with    her, 


228  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

mamma;  can  I?  She  wants  me  to  find  out 
where  she  lives." 

"  Yes,  you  may  go,  dear,  certainly,  if  it  is 
not  too  far." 

Then  she  smiled  on  her  daughter's  little 
friend,  and  asked  : 

"How  far  is  it,  Helen?" 

"  'Most  to  the  railroad  ;  that  red  house  that 
needs  painting,"  answered  the  irrepressible  child, 
her  gray  eyes  dancing  with  glee. 

Hilda  was  immediately  seized  with  amaze- 
ment ;  because  she  had  passed  that  house  every 
time  she  went  to  the  city  and  every  time  she 
returned  therefrom,  and  yet  had  never  surmised 
that  it  was  Helen's  dwelling-place. 

"  Well,  Hilda,  you  are  the  coolest  child  I 
ever  saw,"  complained  Blanche,  from  the  has- 
sock upon  which  she  had  dropped.  "Don't  you 
want  to  know  what  I  've  got?  It 's  a  present  for 
Gilbertina." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,  Blanche,  only  I  had  n't 
time  to  say  so." 

Her  sister  unfolded  the  little  parcel  which 
she  had  been  holding  with  apparent  careless- 
ness, and  brought  to  light  a  doll's  hat — a  marvel 
of  pink-and-white  beauty,  with  creamy,  rose- 
touched  feather-tips. 

"  I  saw  it  in  a  store-window,  and  I  just 
could  n't  help  buying  it,"  she  said,  meeting  her 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  229 

mother's  laughing  eye.  "  It  is  a  good  thing  I 
have  a  monthly  ticket,  for  I  had  n't  money  left 
to  pay  my  way  home.  The  way  they  charge  for 
doll's  things  is  perfectly  fearful.  Run  and  get 
Gilbertina,  Hilda ;  do.  I  'in  not  quite  certain 
this  hat  is  large  enough  for  her;  and  if  it  isn't, 
I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me." 

As  will  be  observed,  Blanche  had  rather  an 
exaggerated  way  of  speaking.  Yet  it  is  not 
strange,  considering  how  much  money  she  had 
thrown  away  upon  this  bit  of  finery,  that  she 
was  anxious  to  be  assured  that  it  was  not  quite 
unavailable.  But  the  hat  was  far  too  small ;  it 
perched  above  Gilbertina's  changeless,  innocent 
face  with  an  odd  and  most  ungraceful  effect. 

"  O,  can't  you  make  it  do?  What  a  shame! 
What  a  pity!"  cried  the  children,  crowding 
around. 

"  It 's  not  a  bit  of  use,"  cried  Blanche,  losing 
her  temper,  and  flinging  the  pretty  trifle  upon 
the  floor.  Hilda  instantly  picked  it  up  and  be- 
gan to  smooth  the  fairy-like  plumes.  "  Serves 
me  right,"  continued  the  older  sister,  in  a  milder 
but  very  fretful  voice.  "  Such  a  baby  as  I  am, 
throwing  away  my  money  on  dolls'  nonsense  ! 
I  dare  say  one  of  the  Susies  can  wear  it.  Give 
it  to  whichever  one  it  fits,  only  please  keep  it 
out  of  my  sight." 

On  the  whole,  Hilda  was  not  sorry  that  one 


230  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

of  the  dear  but  neglected  members  of  her  large 
family  was  to  have  something  new  and  pretty. 
Gilbertina  had  plenty  of  clothes ;  Blanche  in- 
sisted on  sewing  for  her;  but,  for  all  she  cared, 
the  old  favorites  might  go  in  rags.  Helen  and 
Annie  waited  yet  a  little  longer,  while  their 
friend  went  to  put  the  hat  away  in  her  doll's 
bureau.  When  she  returned,  Blanche  was  speak- 
ing, and  the  words  caught  her  ear. 

"  O,  mamma,  I  've  found  a  music-teacher  for 
Hilda.  I  'in  sure  you  can't  do  any  better." 

"  Who  is  it?"  quietly  asked  Mrs.  Craig. 

"A  schoolmate  of  mine — Esther  Madison — 
the  nicest  girl  in  the  school.  She  's  coming  to 
see  you  this  afternoon.  I  told  her  to,  and  tried 
to  get  her  to  stay  to  dinner,  but  she  would  n't 
hear  of  it.  She  's  getting  up  a  class  down  here. 
Fred  Toinlinsou  is  to  be  in  it." 

"A  schoolmate  of  yours!    She  must  be  young." 

"  She  only  takes  French  and  music ;  but  she 
is  young — yes,  indeed.  Now,  think  what  a  splen- 
did girl  she  is!  She's  hardly  eighteen.  She's 
getting  up  a  class  down  here  because  there  's  a 
better  field  than  in  the  city.  Her  aunt  lives 
here,  and  has  helped  her  some." 

"Mamma,  I'd  like  to  take,"  said  Hilda.  "I 
know  Miss  Esther.  Don't  you  remember  I  told 
you  about  the  young  lady  that  rode  with  me 
when  I  came  away  from  Gertie's?" 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  231 

"Yes;"  and  the  remembrance  was  more  to 
Mrs.  Craig  than  Blanche's  eager  praise.  The 
description  which  Hilda  had  given  of  her  trav- 
eling companion  had  sounded  very  pleasantly  in 
the  mother's  ears. 

Helen  was  impatient  now,  and  not  without 
reason.  She  had  Gilbertina  in  her  arms,  and 
insisted  upon  her  going  with  them. 

"  She  shall  get  acquainted  with  my  dolls. 
They  '11  all  look  like  frights  beside  her ;  but 
then  I  '11  play  they  're  jealous,  and  shut  them  up 
in  the  closet.  That  will  be  lots  of  fun." 

Master  Fred  Tomlinson  had  been  to  the 
store — there  was  only  one  in  the  village — to  see 
whether  the  latest  mail  had  brought  the  letter 
which  his  mother  was  expecting.  As  the  letter 
was  not  there,  he  saw  no  necessity  for  returning 
home  at  once.  So  he  stopped  to  hinder  two 
smaller  boys  from  building  a  fire  on  the  corner 
near  by.  He  found  a  large  stick,  and  managed 
with  it  and  a  pair  of  stout  shoes  to  beat  out  the 
struggling  flames  and  scatter  the  kindling-wood. 
This  accomplished,  he  started  on  his  homeward 
way,  leaving  one  child  in  tears  and  the  other  so 
enraged  that  his  yells  brought  Mr.  Lanahan  to 
the  doorway  of  the  store. 

"That  Fred  Tomlinson  is  the  worst  boy  in 
the  township,"  he  remarked  to  the  loafers  who 
kept  each  other  company  upon  his  porch.  They 


232  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

agreed  with  him,  and  Jell  to  relating  tales  in 
which  Master  Tomlinson  figured  as  the  hero  of 
several  startling  exploits. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  their  conversation 
was  wearing  out  the  toes  of  his  shoes  by  trying 
to  kick  away  every  bit  of  wood  which  lay  in  his 
path.  It  was  rather  difficult  work,  for  they  were 
frozen  fast  to  the  ground.  After  a  particularly 
severe  brit  finally  successful  effort,  he  raised  his 
eyes  and  saw  his  sister  and  her  two  companions 
nearly  upon  him.  The  fact  that  Hilda  was 
crowding  close  to  Helen,  and  holding  her  cloak 
over  something  which  the  latter  carried,  did  not 
escape  his  notice.  As  Helen  suspected  no  need 
of  concealment,  she  soon  elbowed  the  anxious 
Hilda  aside,  and  the  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  curls 
of  the  amiable-looking  Gilbertina  appeared. 

Fred  took  off  his   cap  and    made  a  low  bow. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Gilbertina  Filbertina. 
How  did  you  leave  the  other  folks  in  Ketchem's 
Museum  ?  Did  the  giant  ask  after  his  friend, 
Mr.  Frederick  Tomlinson?  Give  him  my  re- 
gards when  you  go  back,  and  tell  him  I  '11 
be  pleased  to  fight  him  whenever  it 's  con- 
venient." 

"Silly  thing!"  exclaimed  his  sister,  pushing 
past.  Helen  began  to  laugh,  but  Hilda  seized 
her  by  the  arm,  pleading: 

"Hurry  up.     Run,  run!"  and  always  ready 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  233 

for  a  race,  Helen  dashed  away.  Fred  made  no 
attempt  to  follow  them,  but  sent  a  long,  clear, 
derisive  whistle  through  the  air. 

"O — I — think — he  's  awfully  funny  !"  panted 
Helen,  stopping  and  holding  her  hand  to  her 
side.  "What  did  he  call  your  doll?  It  sounded 
too  queer  for  anything." 

"Never  mind;  he's  a  bad  boy,"  said  Hilda, 
shortly. 

"  But  what  was  it?" 

"  Gilbertina  Filbertina."  It  was  Annie  who 
spoke.  "  Hilda  Craig,  how  dare  you  call  my 
brother  a  bad  boy?" 

"You  know  he  is  yourself,"  said  Helen,  scorn- 
fully. "What's  the  use  of  fighting  about  that? 
Gilbertina  Filbertina!  And  he  wanted  to  know 
how  she  left  the  folks  in  Ketchem's  Museum. 
Gilbertina  Filbertina  !" 

The  jingle  seemed  to  appeal  strongly  to  Hel- 
en's sense  of  the  melodious.  She  chuckled,  and 
went  on  repeating  it  softly,  while  Hilda  walked 
silently  beside  her  with  quivering  lips.  Helen's 
home,  as  she  had  said,  was  not  far  from  the 
railroad  depot ;  the  last  of  a  line  of  four  or  five 
houses  built  by  some  of  the  earlier  residents  of 
Hawthorn.  The  gate  stood  hospitably  open,  and 
two  dogs  were  fighting  in  the  yard. 

"  Get  out,"  said  Helen,  mildly,  to  these  lat- 
ter. They  paid  no  attention  to  her  command, 


234  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

and  she  did  not  repeat  it.  "  Come  on,  girls," 
she  said,  and  ushered  them  into  a  dark  hall. 

"Now  the  first  thing  is  to  find  out  where 
Mrs.  Snider  is.  "  Mrs.  Sni-der-r-r!"  call-ed  Helen, 
mounting  the  first  two  steps  of  the  staircase, 
and  shouting  lustily.  A  voice  immediately  re- 
plied: 

"  I  'm  in  my  room,  child.  Do  n't  call  so 
loud.  You  ought  to  know  where  to  find  me." 

Apparently  she  was  quite  right,  for  Helen 
looked  over  the  balustrade  to  say,  "  I  supposed 
she  was  there.  We'll  go  right  up,"  and  led  the 
way  to  a  room  in  which  a  neat,  elderly  woman 
sat  sewing. 

It  was  easy  to  see  for  whom  she  sewed.  She 
was  putting  the  daintiest  possible  patch  into  a 
fine  white  apron,  evidently  quite  new  but  badly 
torn,  and  a  dress-skirt,  hanging  loose  from  the 
band,  lay  over  a  chair  beside  her.  Her  face 
was  homely,  but  the  smile  which  she  gave  her 
little  charge  was  bright  with  affection. 

As  far  as  she  knew  how,  Mrs.  Snider  acted 
a  mother's  part  toward  the  child  who  had  been 
given  to  her  care  five  years  before.  Helen  was 
carefully  nursed  through  juvenile  ailments,  and 
anxiously  watched  when  well.  Poor  Mrs.  Sni- 
der labored  energetically  to  keep  her  neatly  and 
prettily  clothed,  but  that  was  an  almost  impos- 
sible task. 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  235 

"  Here  's  Hilda  Craig  and  Annie  Tomlinson, 
Mrs.  Snider.  Now,  just  you  look  and  tell  me  ; 
did  you  ever,  in  all  your  life,  see  anything  as 
lovely  as  this  doll?" 

"O  my!  isn't  that  pretty?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Snider,  adjusting  her  spectacles.  "  Well,  well ! 
Lace  and  embroidery,  and  flannel  fit  for  a  baby 
princess  !  Well,  well !" 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  delighted  ten- 
derness with  which  the  rough,  brown  fingers 
touched  the  delicate  garments. 

"Well,  we're  going  into  the  play-room 
now,"  remarked  Helen,  taking  the  doll  again 
into  her  own  hands;  "  but  first,  please  tell  us 
where  the  doughnuts  are." 

"What  a  child!"  laughed  the  good-natured 
housekeeper.  "  You  've  eat  'most  the  whole  of 
those  doughnuts  yourself.  Don't  ask  me  where 
they  are ;  I  do  n't  know  whether  there  are  any 
at  all.  I  have  n't  seen  them  since  you  were  at 
them  this  morning." 

"  O,  then  I  know  where  they  are  well  enough. 
Back  yonder 's  the  play-room,  girls ;  you  go 
there,  and  I'll  bring  up  the  doughnuts."  And 
then  there  was  a  sound  which  might  have 
frightened  a  nervous  person  into  the  belief  that 
somebody  was  falling  down-stairs,  but  it  was 
only  Helen  descending  in  her  usual  loud  and 
hasty  fashion. 


236  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Two  apiece  and  one  over  there  were,"  she 
said,  when  she  rejoined  her  friends.  "At  first 
I  thought  we  'd  divide  that  one,  but  then  I  con- 
cluded to  leave  it  for  papa  this  evening.  If  he 
doesn't  want  it  (and  I  don't  much  believe  he 
will),  I  can  eat  it  up  for  dinner." 

Helen's  play-room  was  a  narrow  strip  of  an 
apartment,  with  unpapered  walls.  Everything 
in  it  was  in  the  wildest  confusion.  An  open 
picture-book  was  crushed  beneath  the  rocker  of 
a  small  chair,  over  the  back  of  which  hung  by 
one  arm  a  doll  which  had  lost  half  its  hair.  A 
pile  of  saw-dust  (probably  produced  by  the  am- 
putation of  the  missing  arm)  lay  upon  the  flow- 
ered spread  of  a  gilded  toy  bedstead.  Frag- 
ments of  scorched  paper  were  scattered  over  the 
floor,  in  the  center  of  which  stood  a  half-burned 
tallow  candle  in  a  blue  tin  candlestick. 

Helen  stumbled  over  this  last-named  object, 
and  was  instantly  reminded  of  pleasures  past. 

"  If  I  did  n't  have  the  best  fun  day  before 
yesterday,"  said  she,  sitting  comfortably  down  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  beginning  on  her  share 
of  the  cakes.  "  I  made  believe  my  doll  Henry — 
that's  he  under  the  bedstead  ;  maybe  you  don't 
see  him — was  mad  because  his  uncle  left  all 
his  property  to  his  old  aunt,  and  so  he  burned 
up  the  will.  I  got  the  candle  out  of  the  kitchen, 
and  I  expect  Mrs.  Snider  does  n't  know  where 


HEL EN  A  T  HOME.  237 

it  is :  I  never  thought  of  that  before.  Well, 
just  while  he  's  holding  it  in  the  flames,  along 
comes  his  brave  cousin,  Bertha,  and  tries  to 
snatch  it  away.  But  she  can't — he  's  too  quick — 
but  she  burns  her  arm  so  it  has  to  be  cut  off; 
and  I  did  it  with  a  dull  knife',  so  it  took  a  good 
while.  I  have  n't  had  so  much  fun  for  a  long 
time.  Would  you  like  to  play  it  now  ?  We 
could  cut  off  Bertha's  other  arm." 

Hilda  shuddered  at  the  idea,  and  it  was  de- 
cided that  they  should  play  Cinderella  instead. 
The  title-role  was  assigned  to  Gilbertina.  Helen 
and  Annie  were  the  wicked  sisters,  and  Hilda 
the  fairy  godmother.  They  were  so  much  in- 
terested in  the  play  that  the  sun  was  low  before 
the  visitors  remembered  that  they  must  be  going 
home.  Helen  walked  with  them  three -fourths 
of  the  way.  She  forgot  to  put  on  her  mittens, 
and  ran  all  the  distance  back  with  red  and  sting- 
ing hands. 

Hilda  went  into  the  library  as  soon  as  she 
entered  the  house.  There  was  Mrs.  Craig,  her 
hands  busy  with  the  lace  which  she  knit  so  beau- 
tifully. There,  also,  was  Blanche,  and  beside 
Blanche  sat  the  young  lady  whose  acquaintance 
Hilda  had  made  on  the  cars.  The  child  stood 
still,  blushing  and  smiling.  Just  because  she 
liked  Miss  Esther,  and  was  glad  to  see  her,  she 
was  as  dumb  as  the  tongueless  doll  in  her  arms. 


238  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Why,  there's  Hilda!"  cried  Miss  Madison, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "  Hilda  and  Gilbertina! 
I  am  very  glad  to  see  my  fellow-travelers  again. 
Are  you  quite  well,  Hilda  ?  You  must  be,  with 
such  eyes  and  such  cheeks." 

"  O,  I  'm  very  well,"  Hilda  answered.  Esther 
had  been  in  the  house  about  half  an  hour,  and 
in  that  time  she  had  become  a  friend  of  the 
family.  For  it  soon  transpired  that  she  was  the 
niece  of  one  of  Mrs.  Craig's  oldest  friends,  and 
that  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Wraxall,  was  actually  living 
in  Hawthorn.  This  discovery  changed  the  face 
of  affairs,  and  Esther  readily  agreed  to  dine 
with  her  friends.  But  first  she  had  a  lesson  to 
give  to  Fred  Tomlinson;  and  she  rose,  with  a 
little  sigh  of  regret,  to  go  to  him. 

"  It  is  a  mistake  to  be  faint-hearted  at  the 
beginning,"  she  remarked  ;  "  but  I  have,  some- 
how, a  dread  that  that  boy  will  prove  unman- 
ageable." 

"  He 's  a  horrid  »boy,  Miss  Esther,"  said 
Hilda,  suddenly.  "  You  won't  like  him  a  bit." 

Everybody  looked  at  Hilda  then,  surprised 
that  she  should  offer  her  opinion  so  abruptly  and 
positively;  and,  of  course,  Hilda  hung  her  head 
and  blushed,  and  wished  that  she  had  not  spoken. 

"Is  he  really  so  bad?"  asked  Esther,  paus- 
ing with  her  hand  on  the  door-knob.  "  Tell 
me  what  he  does." 


HELEN  AT  HOME.  239 

"  He  's  a  tease,"  faintly  explained  the  child, 
expecting  the  laugh  which  immediately  followed. 
Esther  said,  "  Well,  I  hope  he  won't  tease  me, 
for  I  do  n't  feel  inclined  to  be  patient,"  and  then 
took  her  leave  for  a  little  while. 

Fred  met  her  in  his  mother's  parlor,  with  his 
hand  very  clean  and  red.  He  nodded  to  his 
teacher,  and  then  rushed  to  open  the  piano. 
Esther  rather  enjoyed  that  music-lesson,  for 
Fred's  replies  and  remarks  were  both  amusing. 

"  I  took  one  term  and  a  half,"  said  he. 
"  Went  through  one  exercise  book,  and  learned 
thirty-seven  pieces." 

This  sounded  very  magnificent,  but  Esther 
was  not  overcome. 

"Have  you  played  scales?" 

"No,  ma'am.     Never  heard  of  them." 

"  Then  it  is  high  time  you  did."  And  she 
played  the  scale  of  C. 

"O,  yes'm!"  shouted  Fred.  "  Yes  'm, 
yes  'm  ;  I  've  had  those  things." 

"  How  many  of  those  things  have  you  had  ?" 
asked  his  teacher,  giving  up  the  effort  to  keep 
her  face  straight. 

"Two,"  was  the  immediate  reply;  but  when 
she  asked  him  what  two  they  were,  he  informed 
her : 

"  You  play  one  with  one  hand,  and  the  other 
with  the  other." 


240  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

When  she  went  back  to  Mr.  Craig's,  the 
door  was  opened  by  Hilda,  who  ushered  her 
without  warning  into  the  library.  So  unex- 
pected was  her  entrance  that  it  greatly  startled 
a  gentleman  who  was  sitting  by  the  nearest 
window.  A  small  boy  was  his  vis-a-vis,  and 
the  knees  of  the  two  supported  a  checker-board. 
As  the  smiling-faced  young  lady  appeared,  the 
board  went  crashing  to  the  floor,  and  tiny  red 
and  white  wheels  rolled  rapidly  in  every  di- 
rection. 

u  Now,  Uncle  Gilbert,  that  was  all  your 
fault,"  loudly  complained  Ernest,  dropping  from 
his  chair  and  scrambling  after  the  escaping  toys. 
"  The  game  's  all  spoiled,  and  just  when  I  was 
going  to  beat,  too.  What  made  you  lift  your 
feet  up  like  that?  I  think  you  ought  to  have 
been  more  careful." 

"  Ernest,  that  is  not  the  way  to  speak  to  your 
uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  coming  quickly  around 
the  center-table  to  relieve  the  embarrassment  ot 
her  brother  and  her  guest.  Ernest  was  behind 
the  lounge  by  this  time.  He  was  still  too  angry 
to  feel  ashamed  of  himself.  The  game  had  been 
very  exciting ;  it  was  drawing  to  a  conclusion 
likely  to  be  satisfactory  to  Ernest,  and  all  his 
hopes  had  been  put  to  flight  by  the  strange  and, 
to  him,  utterly  incomprehensible  conduct  of  his 
uncle. 


HEL  EN  A  T  HOME.  24 1 

Uncle  Gilbert  was  able  to  acknowledge  the 
introduction  to  Esther,  but  scarcely  to  do  more. 
His  face  was  almost  purple  with  confusion. 
Poor  Uncle  Gilbert!  He  had  been  trying  to 
amuse  the  owner  of  the  broken  arm  with  the 
game  which  had  delighted  his  boyhood,  but  his 
unconquerable  bash  fulness  seemed  to  have 
brought  his  good  intentions  to  naught. 

Blanche  asked  Esther  to  give  an  account  of 
her  half-hour  with  "the  worst  boy  in  the  town- 
ship." Ernest  found  the  conversation  uninter- 
esting, and,  having  gathered  up  the  checkers, 
decided  to  leave  the  room.  It  was  his  intention 
to  pass  his  uncle  without  one  glance ;  but  when 
he  found  his  hand  seized,  he  stood  still  without 
the  slightest  struggle  for  escape.  He  would  at 
least  be  dignified.  Uncle  Gilbert  kept  him  only 
long  enough  to  slip  something  hard  and  cold 
into  his  palm.  When  Ernest  was  alone  in  the 
hall,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  silver  dollar,  and  he 
rightly  decided  that  his  uncle  had  now  made 
ample  amends  for  his  fault. 

16 


IN   THE    MUSIC-ROOM. 

THE  next  week  was  marked  by  two  impor- 
tant events — Gertie  came,  and  Uncle  Gil- 
bert went  away.  The  latter  would  return  before 
Christinas,  but  Gertie's  visit  was  to  be  of  indefi- 
nite duration.  Her  mother's  only  sister,  who  had 
been  ill  for  some  time,  had  been  ordered  south 
as  the  only  chance  of  regaining  her  health  ;  and 
she  had  sent  so  pathetic  an  appeal  for  Mrs.  Win- 
ner's company  that  it  could  not  be  resisted.  It 
was  not  really  hard  for  her  to  arrange  to  go  ; 
she  had  an  excellent  housekeeper.  The  only 
trouble  was  leaving  husband  and  daughter ;  but 
both  would  be  well  cared  for.  To  the  joy  of  the 
entire  Craig  family,  it  was  decided  that  Gertie 
should  come  to  them. 

So  one  bright,  cold  Tuesday  afternoon  a  pro- 
cession  marched    to  the  Hawthorn  depot,  com- 
posed of  three  Craigs,  two  Tomlinsons,  Barnard 
Simeral,  and  Helen  Bland.     A  smaller  commit- 
242 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  243 

tee  could  not  receive  Gertie  as  such  a  welcome 
guest  deserved.  She  was  neither  timid  nor  self- 
conscious  ;  yet  I  am  sure  she  would  have  felt 
some  embarrassment  if  she  had  heard  all  the 
flattering  information  concerning  her  which  her 
relatives  gave  their  friends.  Fred  and  Annie 
had  already  made  her  acquaintance,  and  began 
to  feel  proud  of  the  fact. 

The  brakeman  looked  very  much  disgusted 
when  a  throng  of  children  pressed  so  close  that 
the  passengers  could  hardly  alight.  But  not  so 
looked  a  pale-faced  little  girl,  with  fair  hair 
blowing  over  her  shoulders  and  a  brown  and 
white  basket  in  her  hand.  Her  great  blue-gray 
eyes  gazed  anxiously  into  the  crowd,  for  they 
did  not  see  very  well ;  but  a  sparkling  smile 
danced  over  her  features  when  she  discerned  her 
cousin's  much-admired  ringlets. 

"  Hullo,  Gertie !"  shouted  Archer  and  Er- 
nest ;  but  Gertie  could  not  speak  to  any  one 
until  she  had  given  darling  Hilda  the  longest, 
strongest  hug  that  dear  child  had  received  in 
many  days. 

"  O,  you  're  going  to  stay  a  great,  great 
while  !"  exclaimed  Hilda,  joyfully.  "  Did  n't  you 
bring  anything  but  that  basket?  Do  you  s'pose 
you  can  wear  my  dresses?" 

"  O,  my  trunk  's  along — they  're  putting  it 
off;  and  I  've  brought  'most  everything  I  've  got. 


244  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

This  isn't  clothes,"  laughed  Gertie,  picking  up 
the  basket,  which  she  had  dropped  in  the  mo- 
ment of  meeting.  "All  of  you  guess  what 's 
in  it." 

The  comprehensive  nod  which  Gertie  gave 
to  the  group  served  as  an  introduction.  It 
showed  that  she  recognized  them  all  as  friends, 
and  they  no  longer  felt  themseles  strangers. 
One  of  Gertie's  most  charming  traits  was  the 
ability  to  do  just  such  little  things  as  this  to  put 
people  at  ease.  She  never  thought  about  her 
actions ;  she  simply  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to 
do  a  thing,  and  did  it  naturally  and  gracefully. 

Immediately  every  one  became  interested  in 
the  basket.  Fred  guessed  that  it  might  contain 
Christmas  presents,  and  Helen  called  out  "  Pop- 
corn ;"  but  before  any  one  else  could  speak,  an 
unexpected  sound  made  them  spring  back  and 
stare  at  each  other,  their  countenances  blank 
with  amazement. 

"  Me-oo !"  cried  a  voice  from  the  basket. 
The  first  syllable  was  high  and  shrill,  the  sec- 
ond very  urgent ;  at  the  same  time  a  scratching 
and  tumbling  could  be  heard  beneath  the  lid. 

"  O  Gertie,"  said  Hilda,  a  dawn  of  intelli- 
gence in  her  eyes,  "have  you — " 

"I  couldn't  leave  my  dear  Quillup,  could  I, 
Hilda?  Our  housekeeper  does  n't  like  cats,  and 
I  was  afraid  she  would  n't  give  him  enough  to 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  245 

eat.  It  takes  a  great  deal  of  meat  to  satisfy 
him.  Miss  Tilly  said  she  'd  keep  him  for  me, 
because  she  knew  I  loved  him.  He  has  been  a 
very  bad  cat  at  times,  but  I  love  him  anyhow. 
But  you  see,  poor  Miss  Tilly  has  that  horrid  bird 
(she  thinks  it 's  nice),  and  she  supposes  every 
cat  that  looks  at  it  is  going  to  eat  it  up.  She 
would  be  worried  sick  if  my  Quillup  was  there, 
though  she  'd  never  be  cross  to  him — never.  So 
I  thought,  Why  not  take  him  along?  You 
don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"  I  like  it  to  exceeding,"  answered  Hilda, 
making  one  of  her  queer  errors  of  speech,  as 
she  usually  did  when  particularly  anxious  to  say 
the  correct  thing.  Quillup  had  evidently  deter- 
mined that  he  would  be  imprisoned  no  longer ; 
he  was  making  such  forcible  efforts  to  escape 
that  he  would  certainly  have  succeeded  if  the 
lid  had  not  been  securely  fastened  down  with 
several  yards  of  twine. 

"You  don't  suppose  he'll  burst  the  basket, 
Archer,  do  you?"  questioned  Gertie,  appealing 
to  this  cousin  because  he  was  generally  held, 
among  the  children,  to  be  exceptionally  wise  and 
discreet. 

"Well,  we  mustn't  be  quite  sure,"  replied 
the  oracle,  taking  the  agitated  basket  carefully 
upon  his  arm.  "  It  looks  pretty  strong  ;  I  do  n't 
believe  he  can.  But  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to 


246  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

get  him  home,  and  let  him  out  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. I  '11  take  him,  and  Barn  and  I  will  hurry 
on  ahead." 

Gertie  willingly  resigned  her  charge,  and  found 
leisure  to  become  better  acquainted  with  Helen 
and  Annie.  Both  invited  her  to  visit  them  after 
school  on  the  following  day,  and  in  pressing  their 
respective  claims  came  near  getting  into  a  quar- 
rel. But  Gertie  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  I  have  n't  the  slightest  idea  where  Helen 
lives.  You  all  know  that,  don't  you?  Well, 
then,  if  she  lives  the  same  side  of  uncle's  that 
Annie  does,  I'll  go  to  see  her  second;  but  if 
she  lives  the  other  side,  I  '11  go  to  see  her  first. 
That  fixes  it,"  and  she  beamed  triumphantly 
upon  the  rival  claimants. 

"  She  does  n't !  We  've  gone  past  her  house 
already!"  cried  the  exultant  Annie.  "You've 
got  to  come  to  my  house  first."  Hilda  showed 
as  much  disappointment  as  Helen,  but  Gertie 
said,  placidly : 

"  All  right.  What 's  the  difference,  when 
I  'm  going  to  stay,  nobody  knows  how  long,  and 
can  go  to  see  you  both  more  times  than  any- 
body would  want  to  count  ?" 

It  was  a  very  happy  time  for  Hilda.  Her 
work  at  school  was  pleasant,  and  by  no  means 
difficult.  She  had  agreeable  companions,  and 
plenty  of  outdoor  sport  in  the  most  delightful 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  247 

kind  of  winter  weather — cold  enough  to  be 
frosty,  brilliant  with  blue  sky  and  golden  sun- 
shine. There  was  an  occasional  light  snow, 
which  gave  the  children  opportunity  for  coast- 
ing, and  vanished  berore  that  amusement  had 
grown  wearisome.  Above  all,  she  had  Gertie  with 
her  all  day  long.  Gertie  was,  as  Mr.  Craig  had 
asserted,  never  in  anybody's  way  ;  yet  she  was 
always  near  when  her  presence  was  desired, 
ready  to  talk  and  play  when  others  felt  sociable, 
and  quietly  occupied  with  books  or  sewing  when 
they  were  not  inclined  to  be  lively.  She  had 
the  gift  of  tact,  which,  united  with  a  loving 
heart,  makes  the  most  delightful  people  we 
ever  meet. 

But  all  the  while  one  unchanging  trouble 
crept  along  Hilda's  happy  days,  entwined  itself 
with  her  work  and  play,  and  repeatedly  lifted 
up  its  ugly  head  to  look  into  her  face.  It  was 
the  trouble  of  Gilbertina's  name.  I  do  not 
know  whether  many  children  could  suffer  so 
acutely  from  such  a  cause ;  but  I  know  that  one 
little  girl  could  and  did  suffer  agonies  of  shame. 
Nor  is  it  difficult  for  me  to  understand  this;  be- 
cause I  was  once  acquainted  with  a  child  so  timid 
and  shrinking,  that  a  stranger's  kindly  notice  was 
painful  to  her.  If  she  dined  away  from  home, 
she  hoped  that  no  one  would  speak  to  her  at  the 
table  ;  it  was  misery  to  be  the  object  of  atten- 


248  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tion.  Yet  she  was  neither  reserved  nor  unsocial, 
only  so  bashful  that  she  had  not  courage  to  be 
satisfactory  to  herself,  and  attractive  to  others. 

Gilbertina  was  so  big  and  beautiful  that 
there  was  no  chance  of  her  escaping  observation. 
Blanche  was  devoted  to  her ;  therefore  a  hand- 
some wardrobe  was  added  to  her  charms.  She 
looked  so  lovely  in  the  artistic  costumes,  that 
Blanche's  zeal  increased  instead  of  diminishing. 
Her  friends  became  interested,  and  assisted  her 
with  many  bits  of  costly  dress-goods  and  delicate 
embroidery.  Gilbertina  went  robed  like  a  young 
princess.  Of  course  so  much  beauty  must  not 
be  hidden  away.  Blanche  fell  into  the  habit  of 
exhibiting  the  doll  to  callers.  To  avoid  the 
trouble  of  bringing  it  from  the  play-room,  she 
suggested  that  Hilda  might  as  well  leave  it  in 
the  library,  and  hemmed  a  square  of  silk  illu- 
sion to  protect  its  beauty  and  elegance  from 
dust.  Veiled  like  a  bride,  Gilbertina  reclined 
upon  the  sofa  cushion,  unless  some  one  was  in- 
dolently inclined,  and  placed  her  upon  the  table, 
or  the  ever-anxious  Hilda  hid  her  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room. 

It  was  hard  to  hear  the  constant  repetition  of 
that  detested  name,  sounded  sometimes  in  won- 
der, oftener  in  ridicule.  Grown-up  people  said 
it  was  charming,  but  they  laughed  as  if  they 
meant  the  contrary.  Every  once  in  a  while, 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  249 

too,  some  dreadful  boy  seized  upon  the  helpless 
puppet,  and  wrung  the  heart  of  its  affectionate 
owner  by  the  dazzling  exercise  of  his  wit.  Boys 
are  never  slow  to  discover  opportunities  for 
teasing.  They  understood  that  Hilda  was 
ashamed  of  the  name,  and  delighted  to  bring  it 
often  to  her  ears. 

You  may  be  sure  that  Mrs.  Craig  was  still 
ignorant  of  her  little  daughter's  suffering,  or  she 
would  have  put  an  end  to  it  without  delay. 
Who  will  say  that  Hilda  did  not  deserve  to  suf- 
fer for  her  lack  of  confidence  in  so  gentle  and 
tender  a  mother? 

Gertie  visited  Annie  Tomlinson  on  the  day 
after  her  arrival,  and  Helen  wanted  her  the  next 
afternoon.  But  Hilda  persuaded  Helen  to  come 
home  with  her  instead. 

"Then  we'll  go  to  see  you  to-morrow,"  she 
promised.  "  I  do  n't  want  to  go  to-day,  because 
I  've  got  to  take  my  music-lesson,  and  it 's  away 
in  the  other  direction.  Let 's  play  till  it 's  time 
to  go,  and  then  we  '11  come  back  and  play  some 
more." 

Three  little  girls  in  a  play-room  full  of  pretty 
toys  must  be  very  queer  little  girls  if  they  can 
not  have  a  good  time.  The  minutes  glided  so 
rapidly  away  that  their  passage  would  have 
been  unnoticed,  if  Archer  had  not  chanced  to 
enter  the  room  and  draw  out  his  silver  watch. 


250  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"O,  what  time  is  it,  Arch?"  inquired  Hilda, 
pausing  in  the  act  of  suspending  a  doll's  ham- 
mock from  the  back  of  a  rocking-chair  to  a  hook 
screwed  into  the  wall. 

"  Quarter  after  three,"  carelessly  replied  her 
brother  as  he  vanished  through  the  doorway. 
Then  Hilda  stood  up. 

"  Girls,  we  '11  have  to  get  ready  to  go." 

The  others  stared  at  her. 

"Why,  Hilda  Craig,  you  don't  have  your 
lesson  till  four  o'clock." 

Hilda  was  always  ahead  of  time  ;  it  was  a 
family  characteristic;  but  this  was  a  little  worse 
than  usual. 

"  The  way  of  it  is  this,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  Lucy  Effingham  is  sick — at  least  she  was  yes- 
terday, and  I  s'pose  she  is  to-day.  I  have  n't 
heard  anything  dissimilar.  So  may  be  Miss 
Esther  might  like  to  give  me  her  half-hour,  and 
get  through  that  much  sooner.  Should  n't  you 
think  perhaps  she  might?" 

"Yes,"  and  Gertie  began  at  once  to  pick  up 
the  playthings.  "  We  '11  get  our  things  on 
right  away." 

So  they  did.  Helen  was  the  first  to  declare 
herself  ready,  but  then  she  neither  buttoned  her 
cloak  nor  tied  the  strings  of  her  hood  ;  and  she 
remembered,  after  they  were  beyond  the  gate, 
that  she  had  left  her  overshoes  under  the  hat- 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  251 

rack.  Her  tardy  memory  caused  some  delay,  but 
did  no  harm,  for  Miss  Esther  was  not  in  the 
music-room  when  they  arrived.  She  did  not 
know  that  Hilda  had  heard  of  Lucy's  illness, 
and,  expecting  to  have  an  idle  half-hour,  had 
concluded  to  spend  it  in  making  a  call. 

Esther  had  found  that  she  could  save  time 
and  strength  by  securing  a  room  in  which  to 
give  lessons.  She  had  found  this  room  with 
the  Misses  Fremont.  These  ladies  lived  in  a 
double  cottage  through  the  center  of  which  ran 
an  unusually  wide  hall.  Miss  Fremont  kept 
house  on  a  limited  scale  ;  she  could  scarcely  do 
more,  and  give  the  constant  attention  required 
by  her  invalid  sister,  Miss  Cynthia.  They  lived 
in  one  half  of  the  cottage  ;  the  other  half  was 
furnished,  but  rarely  used.  The  cheerless  life 
of  the  two  sisters  often  touched  the  hearts  of 
the  kindly  villagers ;  but  there  was  no  disputing 
the  fact  that  things  might  easily  have  been  bet- 
ter with  them.  Miss  Fremont  need  not  have 
worked  so  hard  ;  Miss  Cynthia  might  have  had 
more  comforts,  and,  perhaps,  been  altogether 
cured,  if  they  had  not  been  so  anxious  to  save 
their  money. 

It  was  this  miserly  trait  which  had  influ- 
enced them  to  rent  their  parlor  to  Esther  Madi- 
son. They  disliked  such  a  free  entrance  of 
strangers,  especially  children ;  but  they  never 


252  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

occupied  the  room,  aiid  could  not  resist  the  few 
dollars  which  it  would  bring  them.  Separated 
by  the  broad  hall  and  walls  of  old-fashioned 
thickness,  they  had  thus  far  experienced  no  in- 
convenience. 

Into  this  parlor  came  three  little  maidens, 
each  with  a  doll  in  her  arms;  the  prudent  Ger- 
tie had  suggested  that,  in  case  they  were  too 
early,  they  might  go  on  with  their  play. 

"Miss  Esther  isn't  here,"  observed  Hilda, 
depositing  her  music-roll  upon  the  table. 

"  Well,  we  don't  care;  do  we,  girls?"  asked 
Gertie,  eagerly.  "It  will  be  lots  of  fun  to  play 
here.  Let's  have  it  that  the  dolls  have  gone 
away  for  the  season.  This  room  makes  me 
think  of  a  summer  hotel." 

Perfraps  the  pictureless  walls  were  the  chief 
cause  of  this  resemblance.  There  was  a  large- 
figured  carpet,  its  too-brilliant  colors  happily 
softened  by  time;  lead-colored  blinds  darkened 
the  windows,  and  a  square  table  of  gigantic  size 
filled  a  considerable  space  in  the  center  of  the 
apartment.  A  large  grate  was  full  of  coals, 
blazing  high  and  merrily,  and  the  warm  air 
gave  proof  that  the  fire  was  not  lately  kindled. 
Esther  was  very  particular  about  that  fire;  a 
small,  but  sturdy  neighbor  received  excellent 
pay  to  take  care  of  it  on  Mondays  and  Thurs- 
days. A  square  piano,  with  a  faded  green  cover, 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  253 

stood  between  the  hall  door  and  one  of  the 
broad-silled  windows. 

"  So  it  does  me,"  said  Helen.  "  I  'm  Mrs. 
Leonidas  Lynchpinne — that 's  a  name  I  read  in 
an  Oliver  Optic  book — and  I  had  a  party  last 
night  in  the  hotel  parlor.  You  two  were  in- 
vited, and  so  were  your  daughters." 

"  Yes,  and  my  Rosalind  is  sick  this  morning 
on  account  of  it,"  promptly  rejoined  Gertie. 
"She  ate  too  much  ice-cream.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  that  child  to  teach  her  man- 
ners. She  certainly  is  greedy." 

"  Have  you  had  a  doctor  for  her?" 

"No,  not  yet;  but  perhaps  I'll  have  to. 
Her  neck  is  so  stiff  I  'm  afraid  the  bones  in  it 
will  break.  Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  a 

doctor,  Mrs.  Lynchpinne?  Or  do  you,  Mrs. 

what 's  your  name,  Hilda?" 

"  Mrs.  Admiral  Nelson,  I  guess."  Hilda  had 
been  looking  over  Harper's  Monthly  the  even- 
ing before,  and  remembered  a  picture  of  the 
great  Englishman. 

"  Well,  I  may  as  well  be  the  Empress  of 
Japan,"  said  Gertie,  her  imagination  soaring  to 
an  unexpected  height.  "  How  is  your  sweet 
little  Gilbertina,  Mrs.  Admiral?" 

"  She 's  well ;  her  appetite  is  so  small  she 
never  eats  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  saucer  of  ice- 
cream, even  if  it 's  a  five-cent  saucer." 


254  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Then,  if  she  's  ready,  she  can  go  to  school 
with  my  Luly,"  said  Helen,  hustling  that 
yonng  lady's  arms  into  the  sleeves  of  her  sacque, 
which  she  had  taken  off  but  a  minute  before. 
In  an  impromptu  play  it  is  often  impossible  to 
know  what  will  happen  next. 

"  School  at  a  summer  hotel !" 

This  amazed  outcry  made  Helen  pause,  but 
in  a  moment  she  was  ready  to  maintain  her  po- 
sition. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  she  responded,  slyly  slipping 
off  the  doll's  jacket;  "  I  don't  allow  my  daugh- 
ter to  waste  her  time  in  summer  any  more  than 
in  winter.  So  I  brought  a  governess  along,  and 
she  has  lessons  on  the  side-porch." 

"  Then  I  '11  have  to  be  governess,"  said  Ger- 
tie, delightedly,  "  and  you  can  have  two  chil- 
dren. Mrs.  Lynchpinne,  I  hope  your  daughter 
Lulu  knows  her  spelling  to-day.  I  had  to  give 
it  over  to  her,  because  she  spelled  three  words 
wrong." 

"What  were  they,  ma'am?"  inquired  the  anx- 
ious mother.  "  Three  words  are  too  many  for 
any  girl  to  miss.  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me,  so  I 
could  tie  her  to  the  bed-post?" 

"Rhinoceros,  and  hippopotamus,  and  ocelot," 
replied  the  governess,  reading  the  words  from 
her  handkerchief. 

"Then    I    shan't   whip    her,"  declared  Mrs. 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  255 

Lynchpinne.  "You  oughtn't  to  have  put  three 
such  hard  words  into  one  lesson.  Why,  she  's 
only  six  years  old!  How  do  you  spell  ocelot, 
Gertie?  Is  it  o-c-e-1-o-t?" 

"Yes;  and  Lulu  spelled  it  o-c-e-1-i-t." 

"Suppose  we  don't  play  'Summer  Hotel.' 
Let's  play  'Life  on  the  Plains,"'  suggested 
Hilda. 

"O,  do — do  let's!"  screamed  her  accommo- 
dating companions;  "and  I  want  to  be  a  cow- 
boy," added  Helen. 

"No,  Helen,  you  mustn't.  You  must  live 
in  the  block-house,  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  take 
care  of  the  children.  This  whole  room  is  the 
block-house,  and  the  windows  are  the  port-holes 
that  we  look  through  to  see  the  cow-boys  and 
Indians  riding  along  together.  I  hear  them 
now." 

If  JVIaster  Tomlinson  was  a  cow-boy,  he  had 
become  one  since  school  was  dismissed  that  day; 
yet  it  was  certainly  his  voice  that  went  echoing 
through  the  still,  clear  air: 

"Hi,  Er-r-nest!" 

"It's  that  dreadful  Fred  Tomlinson.  O, 
girls,  I  do  hope  they  won't  come  here." 

"  Well,  but  maybe  they  will ;  and  so  now 
we  've  got  something  to  be  afraid  of,"  exclaimed 
Gertie,  quick  to  seize  opportunities.  "That  will 
make  it  more  real.  O,  Mrs.  Leonidas  Lynch- 


256  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

pinne,  tell  your  daughter  not  to  stick  her  head 
out  of  the  port-hole !  She  's  such  a  frivolous 
child,  I  'm  constantly  suffering  anxiety  about 
her." 

UO,  you  need  n't  mind.  I  've  told  her  once 
to  keep  her  head  in,  and  that  is  enough ;  I 
shan't  tell  her  again.  If  she  gets  transfused 
with  an  arrow,  it 's  her  own  fault,  and  there  will 
be  more  cornmeal  for  the  rest  of  us  to  eat." 

The  unnatural  mother  meant  to  say  trans- 
fixed, instead  of  transfused;  but  her  indifference 
to  her  daughter's  fate  was  forgotten  in  an  in- 
stant, because  a  round,  reddish  face,  with  round, 
bright  eyes,  appeared  on  the  outside  of  the  win- 
dow. A  veritable  cow-boy  would  not  have  been 
a  more  unwelcome  apparition. 

"  Hullo,  girls!"  shouted  Fred,  grinning  in  a 
friendly  manner.  Neither  smile  nor  speech  re- 
plied to  his  pleasant  greeting.  Three  pairs  of 
eyes  looked  straight  into  his  face,  expressing  as 
much  dignity  and  disapprobation  as  they  possi- 
bly could.  This  was  not  a  wise  way  for  the 
girls  to  act.  It  made  Fred  remember  how  fre- 
quently they  suffered  from  his  teasing,  and  cast 
about  in  his  mind  for  new  ways  of  taxing  their 
patience.  He  was  bending  forward  in  an  awk- 
ward fashion,  which  suggested  that  his  footing 
was  not  secure,  and  they  now  observed  that  his 
shoulders  were  strapped  with  twine. 


77V  THE  MU^IC-ROOM.  257 

"What  has  that  boy  got  on?"  asked  Helen, 
her  curiosity  awakened.  "  I  '11  just  creep  up  and 
see." 

"  O  Helen  Lynchpinne,  do  n't  you  go  near 
that  port-hole !"  screamed  Gertie,  unwilling  to 
relinquish  the  play.  "  That's  Buffalo  Bill,  and 
all  his  Indians  are  behind  him." 

Buffalo  Bill  heard  this  shriek,  and  delight 
made  him  totter  so  that  he  almost  fell  on  his 
face. 

"Hurry  up,  chaps!"  he  called,  to  his  invisi- 
ble companions.  "  Here  are  the  girls  in  a  fort, 
and  we  're  the  Indians  come  to  attack  them. 
Walk  right  in  the  front  door,  gentlemen.  I  'in 
the  man  to  show  you  the  way." 

Such  a  clattering  sounded  a  moment  later  on 
the  painted  hall-floor  that  the  girls  forgot  every- 
thing else  in  wondering  what  could  be  the  cause 
of  it.  Then  a  hand  slowly  pushed  back  the 
door,  and  three  elevated  figures  walked  unstead- 
ily into  the  room. 

They  were  mounted  upon  stilts  made  of  tin- 
cans.  Long  loops  of  stout  string  were  passed 
through  holes  bored  in  the  sides  and  slipped 
over  the  shoulders  of  the  wearer.  Of  course  the 
boys  could  not  stand  upright ;  they  were  pulled 
forward  with  each  step,  and  looked  both  un- 
graceful and  uncomfortable.  But  they  were 
lully  compensated  by  two  agreeable  things. 

17 


258  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Everybody  stared  at  them,  and  they  made  a 
great  deal  of  noise. 

The  girls  could  not  keep  from  laughing. 

"  Surrender  !"  cried  the  leader  of  the  attack. 
"Yield  your  arms,  or  we'll  put  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  to  the  sword." 

"Yes;  throw  up  your  arms,"  squeaked  the 
second  in  line.  It  was  Percy  Merrill,  a  boy 
whose  voice  was  thin  and  shrill,  and  close  be- 
hind him  came  Ernest  Craig. 

"  No,  we're  going  to  defend  ourselves;"  and 
the  valiant  Gertie  seized  the  poker  and  advanced 
resolutely  upon  the  enemy.  Helen  instantly 
grasped  the  tongs  and  followed.  Hilda  hesi- 
tated, with  Gilbertina  tucked  for  safety  under 
one  arm.  As  no  better  weapon  was  at  hand,  she 
picked  up  her  music-roll  and  joined  the  defense. 
This  unexpectedly  warlike  attitude  took  the  boys 
by  surprise.  Their  position  was  not  secure 
enough  to  promise  victory  in  a  fight,  and  they 
were  compelled  to  beat  a  retreat.  They  backed 
as  rapidly  as  possible  to  the  wall,  and  supported 
themselves  against  it,  looking  as  helpless  as 
Humpty-Dumpty  just  before  his  famous  tumble. 

"Don't  stick  that  poker  in  my  eye!"  yelled 
Fred.  "  Mind  what  you  're  about,  Gertie  Winner ; 
there  's  no  fun  playing  with  you.  That 's  just 
the  way,  when  we  're  having  a  good  time  you  've 
got  to  go  and  spoil  it." 


•      IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  259: 

"We  were  having  a  good  time  before  you 
came  in,"  retorted  Gertie,  stoutly.  "  We  did  n't 
want  you  ;  and  what  will  Miss  Esther  say,  do  you 
think,  if  she  comes  in  and  finds  you  spoiling  the 
carpet  with  tomato-cans  ?" 

"O,  and  Miss  Cynthia  Fremont  is  sick!" 
chimed  in  Hilda.  "  I  'm  just  as  afraid  as  I  can 
be  of  Miss  Fremont  getting  mad.  Do  get  down, 
Ernie  ;  I  '11  help  you." 

Ernest  glanced  dubiously  at  his  leader,  and 
found  him  already  descending  from  his  metallic 
height,  assisted  by  his  victorious  enemy.  The 
cans  lay  together  upon  the  floor,  displaying 
glaring  representations  of  well-developed  ears  of 
corn,  and  smooth,  scarlet  tomatoes,  and  the 
youths  found  leisure  to  wonder  how  the  girls 
had  been  employing  themselves  before  their 
arrival. 

"  I  'm  going  to  tell  Miss  Madison  how  you 
spoil  her  room,"  threatened  Fred.  "  She  's  as 
particular  as  an  old  maid  about  it ;  makes  you 
wipe  your  feet  on  the  door-mat  every  time  you 
come." 

"  Well,  we  did  wipe  our  feet  on  the  door- 
mat, Mr.  Fred.  You  have  n't  got  anything  to 
tell  her.  We  thought  she  'd  want  to  give  Hilda's 
lesson  early,  and  that  is  why  we  came.  It  was 
just  for  her  sake." 

"  Hi,    Gilbertina  !"  shouted  Fred,  descrying 


260  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

that  long-suffering  damsel  hiding  her  face  under 
Hilda's  arm.  "  Was  the  poor  little  creature 
'most  smothered  ?  Give  her  to  me  to  take  a 
music-lesson.  I  've  just  been  hired  as  assistant 
teacher  at  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a 
day." 

"  Fred,  let  her  alone  ;  let  her  alone  !"  com- 
manded Hilda,  desperately,  trying  to  make  her 
way  toward  the  door.  But  she  was  too  late  ;  the 
rough  boyish  hand  was  crushing  down  the  lovely, 
flaxen  ringlets. 

"If you  don't  give  her  to  me  I  shall  pull," 
he  asserted,  with  a  hard  look  of  determination 
in  his  dark  eyes. 

Pull  that  delicate  darling's  hair !  Hilda 
loosened  her  hold  in  a  second,  and  Fred  was 
away  to  the  piano.  He  perched  the  unfortunate 
doll  upon  the  music-rack,  and  began  running 
his  hands  rapidly  up  and  down  the  key-board. 
Swaying  his  body  to  and  fro,  throwing  back  his 
head  and  stretching  his  eyes,  he  was  his  own 
ideal  of  a  great  performer. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  since  you  ask  it  I 
will  kindly  consent  to  play  my  latest  composi- 
tion. It  is  called  the  '  Gilbertina  Filbertina 
Waltz,'  named  for  the  beautiful  young  lady  who 
is  sitting  on  the  piano  this  minute.  She  's  a 
lunatic,  you  know ;  you  can  tell  that  from  her 
name.  Here  goes !" 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  261 

A  thundering  crash  at  one  end  of  the  piano 
was  followed  by  a  shrill  shriek  from  the  depressed 
keys  at  the  other.  Then  Gilbertina  fell  down. 
Her  blue  dress  and  pale-yellow  locks  flashed 
over  the  front  of  the  piano,  and  struck  upon  the 
floor.  There  was  a  general  rush  to  pick  her  up, 
but  Fred  was  not  ready  to  relinquish  his  victim. 

"  She  's  only  fainted,"  said  he,  with  profes- 
sional calmness.  "  Do  not  let  the  audience  be 
alarmed.  I  will  revive  her  with  the  prick  of  a 
pin.  Aha!  she's  all  right  again,  and  now  she 
will  sing  us  a  solo." 

Quiet  tears  were  beginning  to  steal  over 
Hilda's  cheeks,  but  no  one  remarked  them.  In 
truth,  every  one  else  found  Fred  very  entertain- 
ing, and  he  did  not  seem  to  them  to  be  doing 
anything  very  bad. 

"  Here  's  the  stage,"  cried  Helen,  sweeping 
all  the  books  to  the  center  of  the  table,  and 
piling  them  one  upon  another.  "  Lean  her  up 
against  these." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am.  Now,  Craig 
and  Merrill,  we  three  will  be  the  orchestra. 
One  of  you  can  beat  the  drum  on  a  can,  and  the 
other  can  play  the  fife." 

"  Shall  I  get  under  the  table  and  sing  for 
Gilbertina?"  eagerly  inquired  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Fred,  holding  up  the  cover 
that  she  might  creep  underneath,  •.'  We  '11  play 


262  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

first,  and  when  we  stop  you  begin  to  sing.  Now 
wait  till  I  get  ray  cymbals.  Strike  up,  boys." 

Most  extraordinary  was  the  noise  which 
struck  upon  the  ears  of  Esther  Madison  as  she 
stepped  from  the  porch  into  the  hall.  At  the 
same  moment  Miss  Fremont,  in  bonnet  and 
shawl,  came  hastily  from  her  sister's  room,  im- 
mediately opposite  the  parlor.  She  had  just  re- 
turned from  an  errand,  and  had  found  Miss 
Cynthia  almost  wild  wTith  anxiety,  because  of 
the  sounds  to  which,  for  the  last  ten  minutes, 
she  had, been  obliged  to  listen.  They  seemed 
to  her  nervous  ears  to  indicate  the  destruction 
of  furniture,  and  to  threaten  the  invasion  of  her 
own  apartment.  In  the  midst  of  her  account 
the  clatter  of  tin,  combined  with  the  squeaking 
of  a  human  voice,  and  the  stamping  of  feet,  cor- 
roborated her  amazing  tale,  and  caused  her 
tongue  to  stiffen  with  fright. 

"Miss  Madison!"  exclaimed  Miss  Fremont, 
"what  does  this  mean?"  Her  long,  meager 
face  was  white  with  rage  and  alarm. 

"I  can  not  imagine,  Miss  Fremont,  I  assure 
you,"  was  the  only  reply  which  Esther  could 
give,  as  she  hurried  to  open  the  parlor  door. 
The  two  ladies,  as  they  paused  indignantly  upon 
the  threshold,  saw  three  boys  grouped  about 
the  center-table.  One  was  energetically  beating 
in  the  sides  of  a  vegetable  can,  one  playing  an 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  263 

imaginary  fife  with  might  and  main,  and  the 
third  clashing  two  cans  together,  with  a  noise 
surpassing  all  his  companions  could  produce, 
and  whistling  "  Yankee  Doodle "  while  he 
worked.  At  the  opening  of  the  door  every  arm 
became  motionless,  jovial  smiles  vanished,  and 
the  members  of  the  orchestra  hung  their  heads 
with  unbecoming  sheepishness.  The  sudden 
silence  gave  no  warning  to  Helen,  and  the 
thick  table-cover  prevented  her  seeing  what  had 
happened.  She  supposed  that  the  overture  was 
ended,  and  the  time  for  her  performance  had 
come ;  so,  raising  her  voice,  she  sent  forth  un- 
abashed, the  loud,  clear  notes  of 

"The  owl  and  the  pussy-cat  went  to  sea 
In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat." 

"Hush  this  minute!"  cried  Miss  Esther,  ad- 
vancing with  hasty  steps  to  Ernest's  side,  and 
laying  her  hand  imperatively  upon  the  arm 
which  had  supported  the  invisible  but  undenia- 
bly audible  fife.  You  may  imagine  how  her 
voice  startled  the  prima  donna's  substitute. 
Helen's  head  emerged  from  the  heavy  drapery, 
hair  bristling  over  it  in  a  fine  fuzz,  and  eyes 
and  mouth  all  opened  wide. 

"How  dared  you  come  into  my  room  in  my 
absence  and  raise  such  a  disgraceful  uproar?" 
Esther's  voice  shook  and  her  eyes  flashed.  How 


264  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

could  she  help  being  angry  ?  She  felt  herself 
responsible  for  what  had  occurred  during  her 
absence,  and  dreaded  lest  it  might  occasion  the 
loss  of  the  apartment.  "  Hilda,  is  it  possible 
that  you  are  here  too? — you  and  Ernest?  I 
never  dreamed  that  I  must  not  trust  you." 

When  the  orchestra  began  its  noise  Hilda 
had  retired  to  the  back  window,  and  as  soon  as 
Gertie  discovered  that  she  was  crying,  she  had 
followed  and  tried  to  console  her.  The  entrance 
of  Miss  Esther  and  the  terrible  Miss  Fremont 
had  done  what  Gertie's  kisses  and  comforting 
could  not  do — it  had  stopped  the  flow  of  tears. 
But  this  unmerited  accusation  was  more  than 
she  could  bear.  She  burst  into  a  passionate  fit 
of  weeping,  struggling  to  tear  herself  from  her 
cousin's  arms  and  rush  out  of  the  room.  But 
Gertie  held  her  fast. 

"  Miss  Esther,  do  n't  let  her  go,"  she  pleaded^ 
earnestly.  "It  isn't  her  fault;  no,  indeed  it 
isn't.  She  feels  worse  than  you  do." 

Distressed  though  she  was,  Esther  perceived 
that  here  was  something  which  she  did  not  un- 
derstand. She  took  Hilda's  hand  and  held  it, 
while  she  ordered  the  boys  to  pick  up  the  cans 
and  leave  the  room.  Helen  was  compelled  to 
follow  them ;  for  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
she,  at  least,  had  had  a  share  in  the  disturbance. 
When  Esther  turned  to  speak  to  Miss  Fremont, 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  265 

she  found  her  gone.  Perhaps  she  was  too  much 
disgusted  to  linger,  or  it  may  have  been  that  she 
feared  to  leave  her  sister  longer  alone. 

"I  must  go  and  speak  to  Miss  Fremont," 
said  the  young  teacher,  releasing  Hilda's  hand. 
"Sit  down  by  the  fire  and  wait  till  I  come  back. 
I  will  not  be  long." 

Miss  Fremont  and  her  sister  were  already 
calm,  but  very  frigid  and  unbending.  They  ad- 
mitted that  the  disturbance  did  not  seem  to  be 
Esther's  fault,  but  repeatedly  declared  that  she 
must  not  let  it  happen  again.  It  soon  became 
evident  that  they  did  not  intend  to  make  her 
abandon  the  room,  and,  greatly  relieved,  the 
poor  girl  went  back  to  the  waiting  children. 

They  were  crouched  upon  the  hearth-rug, 
lifting  two  sad  and  timid  faces  as  she  entered. 
She  closed  the  door,  drew  a  chair  near  to  them, 
and  kindly  asked  : 

"Will  you  tell  me  now  how  all  this  hap- 
pened ?  I  do  not  know  anything  about  it,  and 
I  would  like  to  understand." 

Nothing  is  so  likely  to  quiet  any  one,  es- 
pecially a  child,  as  quietness  in  another.  Gertie 
and  Hilda  began  at  the  first  and  told  her,  help- 
ing each  other  along,  that  they  had  come  to  the 
room  early,  and  why  they  had  done  so,  about 
their  playing  together,  and  the  appearance  of 
{he  boys  just  in  time  to  represent  Indians  at' 


266  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tacking  the  fort.  They  left  nothing  out;  but 
toward  the  conclusion  of  the  account,  Gertie 
had  to  do  all  the  talking.  Hilda  struggled 
awhile  with  her  emotion.  She  turned  her 
head  aside,  and  opened  and  shut  her  eyes  to 
scare  the  tears  away.  But  it  was  of  no  avail ; 
they  would  come.  She  laid  her  head  on  her 
cousin's  shoulder,  and  cried  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  real  sorrow. 

"  My  dear  little  Hilda,"  said  Esther,  pitying 
her  very  much,  "don't  cry;  you  have  done 
nothing  which  should  make  you  ashamed.  I 
am  quite  certain  that  neither  you  nor  Gertie 
was  to  blame." 

But  Hilda  did  not  lift  her  head,  nor  did  her 
weeping  cease.  Esther  tried  again. 

"  Is  it  because  I  was  angry  with  you  at  first? 
I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  You  do  not  want  to 
make  me  feel  badly  because  I  made  a  mistake?" 

Still  no  answer.  Hilda  really  wanted  to 
speak ;  to  tell  Miss  Esther  that  she  loved  her, 
and  thought  her  very  kind.  But  the  poor  child 
was  so  miserable  that  she  could  only  go  on 
crying. 

Her  two  companions  looked  at  each  other 
anxiously.  Gertie's  eyes  dilated ;  she  believed 
that  she  understood. 

"I  do  believe  her  heart  is  broken,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  O,  Miss  Esther,  that  bad  Fred 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  267 

Tomlinson  has  done  it.  He  lias  teased  her 
about  Gilbertina  until  she  can't  bear  it  any 
longer." 

"About Gilbertina?     What  can  you  mean?" 

"Just  about  her  name,"  returned  Gertie, 
impressively.  "  Nothing  else  at  all.  And  it 
is  n't  Hilda's  fault  that  Gilbertina's  got  such  a 
name.  She  does  n't — " 

Hilda  lifted  her  head  from  her  cousin's 
shoulder,  sat  straight  up,  and  gazed  at  her  re- 
proach fully. 

"You  mustn't  talk  so,  Gertie.  You  don't 
know  why  I  cried  any  more  than  Miss,  Esther 
does,  and  you  need  n't  pretend  you  do." 

The  sudden  change  from  despair  to  indigna- 
tion overwhelmed  Gertie  with  astonishment, 
and  struck  Esther  as  so  funny  that  she  narrowly 
escaped  laughing  aloud.  She  knew,  however, 
that  the  best  she  could  do  was  to  divert  Hilda's 
thoughts.  Besides,  the  afternoon  was  slipping 
away.  She  rose,  and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on 
the  brown  ringlets. 

"Are  you  ready  for  your  music-lesson  ?  I 
have  not  much  time  to  spare." 

Gertie  went  out  before  they  began !  Poor 
child!  Her  cousin's  incomprehensible  behavior 
cut  her  to  the  heart.  Hilda  did  not  look  at  her 
as  she  walked  to  the  piano;  she  held  her  head 
erect,  and  seemed  to  wish  to  look  as  if  she  had 


268  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

not  been  crying  nor  feeling  the  least  bit  badly. 
"  I  do  n't  suppose  she  wants  me  to  wait  for 
her,"  thought  the  innocent  little  offender,  her 
faithful  heart  very  heavy.  She  went  sorrow- 
fully along  the  rough,  frozen  road,  a  broken 
stream  of  luster  from  the  sinking  sun  quivering 
on  the  way  before  her.  As  she  opened  her 
uncle's  gate  she  saw  Annie  Tomlinson  coming 
around  the  neighboring  house.  Nobody  must 
stop  her  now.  She  started  to  run,  and  did  not 
stop  until  her  hand  was  on  the  knob  of  the 
side  door. 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING. 

A  VERY  unhappy  Gertie  crept  stealthily  up 
the  stairs  and  into  the  guest-chamber  where 
she  and  Hilda  slept.  She  did  not  want  to  see 
any  one,  for  she  could  not  bear  a  word.  Up  to 
this  time  the  little  cousins  had  never  quarreled 
with  each  other,  and  the  present  state  of  affairs 
seemed  to  Gertie  too  dreadful  to  be  endured. 

There  was  a  deep,  cushioned  chair  beside 
the  window,  and  into  this  she  crept,  alter  noise- 
lessly closing  the  door.  The  lowering  daylight 
shone  on  the  white  wall  of  Mr.  Tomlinson's 
house  like  a  mantle  of  thin  golden  stuff  woven 
by  the  fairies.  The  sky  was  a  pale,  wintry 
blue ;  over  the  horizon  rose,  like  a  breath,  a 
green-gold  luster;  and  the  snow  on  every  roof 
in  sight  was  touched  with  a  tint  of  rose. 

The  beautiful  scene  caught  Gertie  away  from 
her  grief;  but  she  came  back  to  it  in  a  minute, 

269 


270  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

and  laid  her  head  on  the  soft  arm  of  the  chair 
with  a  long,  helpless  sigh. 

O,  she  felt  so  lonely !  Hilda  was  angry 
with  her.  Hilda  had  her  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters  to  sympathize  with  her  and  take  her 
part.  Gertie's  mother  was  far  away  in  the  South) 
and  she  could  see  her  father  only  once  or  twice 
a  week.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  till  now 
what  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  to-  be  away  from 
home.  Then,  in  thought,  she  floated  away  to 
the  city.  How  wide  and  bright  and  clean 
looked  Walnut  Street,  with  its  rows  of  hand- 
some houses  and  lines  of  slender,  bare-armed 
trees !  She  went  through  every  room  of  her 
dear  home,  pausing  longest  where  she  had  so 
often  sat  with  her  mother.  She  involuntarily 
put  up  her  hand,  and  it  touched  a  tear  half-way 
down  her  cheek.  This  would  not  do. 

"Stop  crying,  Gertie  Winner!"  she  com- 
manded, shaking  herself  as  hard  as  she  could. 
"  I  must  divert  myself.  Now,  if  I  only  had  n't 
written  to  mamma  to-day,  I  might  do  that.  I 
wrote  her  four  pages,  and  told  her  about  school 
and  Helen  Bland  and  how  Quillup  was  getting 
along." 

Quillup  !  To  be  sure.  What  a  shame  that 
she  had  not  thought  of  that  dear  cat  since  early 
in  the  morning !  Was  it  not  likely  that  he  was 
as  lonely  as  she  was  herself? 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         271 

"  For  '  cats  do  not  love  people,  but  places,' ' 
quoted  she,  getting  nimbly  on  her  feet.  "  I 
read  that  somewhere,  and  it 's  just  about  all 
the  consolation  I  have  when  I  see  how  he 
won't  be  still  and  let  us  put  him  where  we 
want  to." 

A  very  close  watch  was  kept  upon  "  Mr. 
Quillup,"  as  Archer  called  him.  If,  while  he 
was  in  the  kitchen,  the  outside  door  was  for  a 
moment  left  open,  he  must  be  tightly  clasped 
in  somebody's  arms,  or  he  would  be  out  of  doors 
like  a  flash;  and  then,  coax  as  one  might,  he 
would  not  come  in  until  he  chose.  There  was 
great  danger  that  he  might  sometime  choose  not 
to  return  at  all,  for  he  seemed  rather  discon- 
tented." 

"Is  Quillup  all  right?"  called  out  his  eager 
little  mistress,  fluttering  into  the  kitchen. 

Emma  was  just  crossing  the  floor  with  a 
large  dish  of  macaroni,  which  she  was  about  to 
put  into  the  oven.  Her  hands  were  fully  occu- 
pied, and,  as  she  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  answer  the  question  in  words,  she  nodded 
her  head  toward  the  table.  Under  the  table 
crouched  Quillup,  vigorously  gnawing  a  lamb- 
chop,  his  head  so  far  to  one  side  that  it  almost 
lay  on  the  floor.  The  favored  animal  had  meals 
served  to  him  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 

"  Now  you  've  had  enough  to  eat,"  said  Ger- 


272  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tie,  getting  down  beside  him.  "  I  want  you  to 
come  to  me." 

Quillup  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  from 
his  repast  without  protest.  He  hid  his  head 
under  her  arm,  and  was  absolutely  motionless. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  doors  opened,  and 
Gertie  glanced  up  to  meet  Hilda's  solemn  gaze. 
Hilda  had  evidently  just  come  in ;  she  was  still 
hatted  and  cloaked,  and  held  her  silk  mittens  in 
her  hand.  For  one  instant  the  cousins  looked 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes.  Gertie  began 
to  flush  and  tremble,  but  Hilda's  face  did  not 
change.  She  drew  back  and  shut  the  door,  and 
her  slow  footsteps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs. 

Certainly  it  can  not  have  been  more  than 
three  minutes  after  this  that  Blanche  tried  to 
open  the  play-room  door.  It  was  locked,  and 
when  she  had  shaken  it  a  voice  was  heard,  de- 
manding: 

"Who's  there?" 

"  Blanche,"  replied  the  owner  of  that  name- 
"  Open  the  door,  Hilda." 

"  No,  you  can't  come  in,"  firmly  replied  her 
sister.  "  Won't  you  please  go  and  find  Gertie, 
and  tell  her  that  I  want  her?" 

"How  ridiculous!"  exclaimed  the  older  girl, 
provoked  and  yet  amused.  "  What  are  you 
doing  that  you  are  n't  willing  for  other  people 
to  see  ?" 


fN  THE  fffU^TC-ROOM.  257 

"  What  has  that  boy  got  on  ?"  asked  Helen,, 
her  curiosity  awakened.  "  I  '11  just  creep  up  and 
see." 

"  O  Helen  Lynchpinne,  do  n't  you  go  near 
that  port-hole !"  screamed  Gertie,  unwilling  to 
relinquish  the  play.  "  That's  Buffalo  Bill,  and 
all  his  Indians  are  behind  him." 

Buffalo  Bill  heard  this  shriek,  and  delight 
made  him  totter  so  that  he  almost  fell  on  his 
face. 

"Hurry  up,  chaps!"  he  called,  to  his  invisi- 
ble companions.  "  Here  are  the  girls  in  a  fort, 
and  we  're  the  Indians  come  to  attack  them. 
Walk  right  in  the  front  door,  gentlemen.  I  'm 
the  man  to  show  you  the  way." 

Such  a  clattering  sounded  a  moment  later  on 
the  painted  hall-floor  that  the  girls  forgot  every- 
thing else  in  wondering  what  could  be  the  cause 
of  it.  Then  a  hand  slowly  pushed  back  the 
door,  and  three  elevated  figures  walked  unstead- 
ily into  the  room. 

They  were  mounted  upon  stilts  made  of  tin- 
cans.  Long  loops  of  stout  string  were  passed 
through  holes  bored  in  the  sides  and  slipped 
over  the  shoulders  of  the  wearer.  Of  course  the 
boys  could  not  stand  upright ;  they  were  pulled 
forward  with  each  step,  and  looked  both  un- 
graceful and  uncomfortable.  But  they  were 
lully  compensated  by  two  agreeable  things. 


258  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Everybody  stared  at  them,  and  they  made  a 
great  deal  of  noise. 

The  girls  could  not  keep  from  laughing. 

"  Surrender  !"  cried  the  leader  of  the  attack. 
"Yield  your  arms,  or  we'll  put  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  to  the  sword." 

"Yes;  throw  up  your  arms,"  squeaked  the 
second  in  line.  It  was  Percy  Merrill,  a  boy 
whose  voice  was  thin  and  shrill,  and  close  be- 
hind him  came  Ernest  Craig. 

"No,  we're  going  to  defend  ourselves;"  and 
the  valiant  Gertie  seized  the  poker  and  advanced 
resolutely  upon  the  enemy.  Helen  instantly 
grasped  the  tongs  and  followed.  Hilda  hesi- 
tated, with  Gilbertina  tucked  for  safety  under 
one  arm.  As  no  better  weapon  was  at  hand,  she 
picked  up  her  music-roll  and  joined  the  defense. 
This  unexpectedly  warlike  attitude  took  the  boys 
by  surprise.  Their  position  was  not  secure 
enough  to  promise  victory  in  a  fight,  and  they 
were  compelled  to  beat  a  retreat.  They  backed 
as  rapidly  as  possible  to  the  wall,  and  supported 
themselves  against  it,  looking  as  helpless  as 
Humpty-Dumpty  just  before  his  famous  tumble. 

"Don't  stick  that  poker  in  my  eye!"  yelled 
Fred.  "  Mind  what  you  're  about,  Gertie  Winner ; 
there  's  no  fun  playing  with  you.  That 's  just 
the  way,  when  we  're  having  a  good  time  you  've 
got  to  go  and  spoil  it." 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  '  259 

"We  were  having  a  good  time  before  you 
came  in,"  retorted  Gertie,  stoutly.  "  We  did  n't 
want  you  ;  and  what  will  Miss  Esther  say,  do  you 
think,  if  she  comes  in  and  finds  you  spoiling  the 
carpet  with  tomato-cans  ?" 

"O,  and  Miss  Cynthia  Fremont  is  sick!" 
chimed  in  Hilda.  "  I  'm  just  as  afraid  as  I  can 
be  of  Miss  Fremont  getting  mad.  Do  get  down, 
Ernie  ;  I  '11  help  you." 

Ernest  glanced  dubiously  at  his  leader,  and 
found  him  already  descending  from  his  metallic 
height,  assisted  by  his  victorious  enemy.  The 
cans  lay  together  upon  the  floor,  displaying 
glaring  representations  of  well-developed  ears  of 
corn,  and  smooth,  scarlet  tomatoes,  and  the 
youths  found  leisure  to  wonder  how  the  girls 
had  been  employing  themselves  before  their 
arrival. 

"  I  'm  going  to  tell  Miss  Madison  how  you 
spoil  her  room,"  threatened  Fred.  "  She  's  as 
particular  as  an  old  maid  about  it ;  makes  you 
wipe  your  feet  on  the  door-mat  every  time  you 
come." 

"  Well,  we  did  wipe  our  feet  on  the  door- 
mat, Mr.  Fred.  You  have  n't  got  anything  to 
tell  her.  We  thought  she  'd  want  to  give  Hilda's 
lesson  early,  and  that  is  why  we  came.  It  was 
just  for  her  sake." 

u  Hi,   Gilbertina  !"  shouted  Fred,  descrying 


260  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

that  long-suffering  damsel  hiding  her  face  under 
Hilda's  arm.  "  Was  the  poor  little  creature 
'most  smothered  ?  Give  her  to  me  to  take  a 
music-lesson.  I  've  just  been  hired  as  assistant 
teacher  at  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a 
day." 

"  Fred,  let  her  alone ;  let  her  alone  !"  com- 
manded Hilda,  desperately,  trying  to  make  her 
way  toward  the  door.  But  she  was  too  late  ;  the 
rough  boyish  hand  was  crushing  down  the  lovely, 
flaxen  ringlets. 

"If  you  do  n'.t  give  her  to  me  I  shall  pull," 
he  asserted,  with  a  hard  look  of  determination 
in  his  dark  eyes. 

Pull  that  delicate  darling's  hair !  Hilda 
loosened  her  hold  in  a  second,  and  Fred  was 
away  to  the  piano.  He  perched  the  unfortunate 
doll  upon  the  music-rack,  and  began  running 
his  hands  rapidly  up  and  down  the  key-board. 
Swaying  his  body  to  and  fro,  throwing  back  his 
head  and  stretching  his  eyes,  he  was  his  own 
ideal  of  a  great  performer. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  since  you  ask  it  I 
will  kindly  consent  to  play  my  latest  composi- 
tion. It  is  called  the  '  Gilbertina  Filbertina 
Waltz,'  named  for  the  beautiful  young  lady  who 
is  sitting  on  the  piano  this-  minute.  She  's  a 
lunatic,  you  know ;  you  can  tell  that  from  her 
name.  Here  goes  !" 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  261 

A  thundering  crash  at  one  end  of  the  piano 
was  followed  by  a  shrill  shriek  from  the  depressed 
keys  at  the  other.  Then  Gilbertina  fell  down. 
Her  blue  dress  and  pale-yellow  locks  flashed 
over  the  front  of  the  piano,  and  struck  upon  the 
floor.  There  was  a  general  rush  to  pick  her  up, 
but  Fred  was  not  ready  to  relinquish  his  victim. 

"  She  's  only  fainted,"  said  he,  with  profes- 
sional calmness.  "  Do  not  let  the  audience  be 
alarmed.  I  will  revive  her  with  the  prick  of  a 
pin.  Aha!  she's  all  right  again,  and  now  she 
will  sing  us  a  solo." 

Quiet  tears  were  beginning  to  steal  over 
Hilda's  cheeks,  but  no  one  remarked  them.  In 
truth,  every  one  else  found  Fred  very  entertain- 
ing, and  he  did  not  seem  to  them  to  be  doing 
anything  very  bad. 

"  Here  's  the  stage,"  cried  Helen,  sweeping 
all  the  books  to  the  center  of  the  table,  and 
piling  them  one  upon  another.  "  Lean  her  up 
against  these." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am.  Now,  Craig 
and  Merrill,  we  three  will  be  the  orchestra. 
One  of  you  can  beat  the  drum  on  a  can,  and  the 
other  can  play  the  fife." 

"  Shall  I  get  under  the  table  and  sing  for 
Gilbertina?"  eagerly  inquired  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Fred,  holding  up  the  cover 
that  she  might  creep  underneath.  "  We  '11  play 


262  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

first,  and  when  we  stop  you  begin  to  sing.  Now 
wait  till  I  get  my  cymbals.  Strike  up,  boys." 

Most  extraordinary  was  the  noise  which 
struck  upon  the  ears  of  Esther  Madison  as  she 
stepped  from  the  porch  into  the  hall.  At  the 
same  moment  Miss  Fremont,  in  bonnet  and 
shawl,  came  hastily  from  her  sister's  room,  im- 
mediately opposite  the  parlor.  She  had. just  re- 
turned from  an  errand,  and  had  found  Miss 
Cynthia  almost  wild  with  anxiety,  because  of 
the  sounds  to  which,  for  the  last  ten  minutes, 
she  had  been  obliged  to  listen.  They  seemed 
to  her  nervous  ears  to  indicate  the  destruction 
of  furniture,  and  to  threaten  the  invasion  of  her 
own  apartment.  In  the  midst  of  her  account 
the  clatter  of  tin,  combined  with  the  squeaking 
of  a  human  voice,  and  the  stamping  of  feet,  cor- 
roborated her  amazing  tale,  and  caused  her 
tongue  to  stiffen  with  fright. 

"Miss  Madison!"  exclaimed  Miss  Fremont, 
"what  does  this  mean?"  Her  long,  meager 
face  was  white  with  rage  and  alarm. 

"I  can  not  imagine,  Miss  Fremont,  I  assure 
you,"  was  the  'only  reply  which  Esther  could 
give,  as  she  hurried  to  open  the  parlor  door. 
The  two  ladies,  as  they  paused  indignantly  upon 
the  threshold,  saw  three  boys  grouped  about 
the  center-table.  One  was  energetically  beating 
in  the  sides  of  a  vegetable  can,  one  playing  an 


fN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  263 

imaginary  fife  with  might  and  main,  and  the 
third  clashing  two  cans  together,  with  a  noise 
surpassing  all  his  companions  could  produce, 
and  whistling  "  Yankee  Doodle "  while  he 
worked.  At  the  opening  of  the  door  every  arm 
became  motionless,  jovial  smiles  vanished,  and 
the  members  of  the  orchestra  hung  their  heads 
with  unbecoming  sheepishness.  The  sudden 
silence  gave  no  warning  to  Helen,  and  the 
thick  table-cover  prevented  her  seeing  what  had 
happened.  She  supposed  that  the  overture  was 
ended,  and  the  time  for  her  performance  had 
come ;  so,  raising  her  voice,  she  sent  forth  un- 
abashed, the  loud,  clear  notes  of 

"The  owl  and  the  pussy-cat  went  to  sea 
In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat." 

"  Hush  this  minute !"  cried  Miss  Esther,  ad- 
vancing with  hasty  steps  to  Ernest's  side,  and 
laying  her  hand  imperatively  upon  the  arm 
which  had  supported  the  invisible  but  undenia- 
bly audible  fife.  You  may  imagine  how  her 
voice  startled  the  prima  donna's  substitute. 
Helen's  head  emerged  from  the  heavy  drapery, 
hair  bristling  over  it  in  a  fine  fuzz,  and  eyes 
and  mouth  all  opened  wide. 

"  How  dared  you  come  into  my  room  in  my 
absence  and  raise  such  a  disgraceful  uproar?" 
Esther's  voice  shook  and  her  eyes  flashed.  How 


264  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

could  she  help  being  angry  ?  She  felt  herself 
responsible  for  what  had  occurred  during  her 
absence,  and  dreaded  lest  it  might  occasion  the 
loss  of  the  apartment.  "  Hilda,  is  it  possible 
that  you  are  here  too? — you  and  Ernest?  I 
never  dreamed  that  I  trmst  not  trust  you." 

When  the  orchestra  began  its  noise  Hilda 
had  retired  to  the  back  window,  and  as  soon  as 
Gertie  discovered  that  she  was  crying,  she  had 
followed  and  tried  to  console  her.  The  entrance 
of  Miss  Esther  and  the  terrible  Miss  Fremont 
had  done  what  Gertie's  kisses  and  comforting 
could  not  do — it  had  stopped  the  flow  of  tears. 
But  this  unmerited  accusation  was  more  than 
she  could  bear.  She  burst  into  a  passionate  fit 
of  weeping,  struggling  to  tear  herself  from  her 
cousin's  arms  and  rush  out  of  the  room.  But 
Gertie  held  her  fast. 

"  Miss  Esther,  do  n't  let  her  go,"  she  pleaded^ 
earnestly.  "It  isn't  her  fault;  no,  indeed  it 
isn't.  She  feels  worse  than  you  do." 

Distressed  though  she  was,  Esther  perceived 
that  here  was  something  which  she  did  not  un- 
derstand. She  took  Hilda's  hand  and  held  it, 
while  she  ordered  the  boys  to  pick  up  the  cans 
and  leave  the  room.  Helen  was  compelled  to 
follow  them ;  for  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
she,  at  least,  had  had  a  share  in  the  disturbance. 
When  Esther  turned  to  speak  to  Miss  Fremont, 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  265 

she  found  her  gone.  Perhaps  she  was  too  much 
disgusted  to  linger,  or  it  may  have  been  that  she 
feared  to  leave  her  sister  longer  alone. 

"I  must  go  and  speak  to  Miss  Fremont," 
said  the  young  teacher,  releasing  Hilda's  hand. 
"Sit  down  by  the  fire  and  wait  till  I  come  back. 
I  will  not  be  long." 

Miss  Fremont  and  her  sister  were  already 
calm,  but  very  frigid  and  unbending.  They  ad- 
mitted that  the  disturbance  did  not  seem  to  be 
Esther's  fault,  but  repeatedly  declared  that  she 
must  not  let  it  happen  again.  It  soon  became 
evident  that  they  did  not  intend  to  make  her 
abandon  the  room,  and,  greatly  relieved,  the 
poor  girl  went  back  to  the  waiting  children. 

They  were  crouched  upon  the  hearth-rug, 
lifting  two  sad  and  timid  faces  as  she  entered. 
She  closed  the  door,  drew  a  chair  near  to  them, 
and  kindly  asked  : 

"Will  you  tell  me  now  how  all  this  hap- 
pened ?  I  do  not  know  anything  about  it,  and 
I  would  like  to  understand." 

Nothing  is  so  likely  to  quiet  any  one,  es- 
pecially a  child,  as  quietness  in  another.  Gertie 
and  Hilda  began  at  the  first  and  told  her,  help- 
ing each  other  along,  that  they  had  come  to  the 
room  early,  and  why  they  had  done  so,  about 
their  playing  together,  and  the  appearance  of 
the  boys  just  in  time  to  represent  Indians  at- 


266  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tacking  the  fort.  They  left  nothing  out;  but 
toward  the  conclusion  of  the  account,  Gertie 
had  to  do  all  the  talking.  Hilda  struggled 
awhile  with  her  emotion.  She  turned  her 
head  aside,  and  opened  and  shut  her  eyes  to 
scare  the  tears  away.  But  it  was  of  no  avail ; 
they  would  come.  She  laid  her  head  on  her 
cousin's  shoulder,  and  cried  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  real  sorrow. 

"  My  dear  little  Hilda,"  said  Esther,  pitying 
her  very  much,  "don't  cry;  you  have  done 
nothing  which  should  make  you  ashamed.  I 
am  quite  certain  that  neither  you  nor  Gertie 
was  to  blame." 

But  Hilda  did  not  lift  her  head,  nor  did  her 
weeping  cease.  Esther  tried  again. 

"  Is  it  because  I  was  angry  with  you  at  first? 
I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  You  do  not  want  to 
make  me  feel  badly  because  I  made  a  mistake?" 

Still  no  answer.  Hilda  really  wanted  to 
speak ;  to  tell  Miss  Esther  that  she  loved  her, 
and  thought  her  very  kind.  But  the  poor  child 
was  so  miserable  that  she  could  only  go  on 
crying. 

Her  two  companions  looked  at  each  other 
anxiously.  Gertie's  eyes  dilated ;  she  believed 
that  she  understood. 

"I  do  believe  her  heart  is  broken,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  O,  Miss  Esther,  that  bad  Fred 


IN  THE  MUSIC-ROOM.  267 

Tomlinson  has  done  it.  He  has  teased  her 
about  Gilbertina  until  she  can't  bear  it  any 
longer." 

"About  Gilbertina?     What  can  you  mean?" 

"Just  about  her  name,"  returned  Gertie, 
impressively.  "  Nothing  else  at  all.  And  it 
is  n't  Hilda's  fault  that  Gilbertina's  got  such  a 
name.  She  does  n't — " 

Hilda  lifted  her  head  from  her  cousin's 
shoulder,  sat  straight  up.  and  gazed  at  her  re- 
proachfully. 

"You  must  n't  talk  so,  Gertie.  You  don't 
know  why  I  cried  any  more  than  Miss  Esther 
does,  and  you  need  n't  pretend  you  do." 

The  sudden  change  from  despair  to  indigna- 
tion overwhelmed  Gertie  with  astonishment, 
and  struck  Esther  as  so  funny  that  she  narrowly 
escaped  laughing  aloud.  She  knew,  however, 
that  the  best  she  could  do  was  to  divert  Hilda's 
thoughts.  Besides,  the  afternoon  was  slipping 
away.  She  rose,  and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on 
the  brown  ringlets. 

"Are  you  ready  for  your  music-lesson  ?  I 
have  not  much  time  to  spare." 

Gertie  went  out  before  they  began !  Poor 
child!  Her  cousin's  incomprehensible  behavior 
cut  her  to  the  heart.  Hilda  did  not  look  at  her 
as  she  walked  to  the  piano;  she  held  her  head 
erect,  and  seemed  to  wish  to  look  as  if  she  had 


268  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

not  been  crying  nor  feeling  the  least  bit  badly. 
"  I  do  n't  suppose  she  wants  me  to  wait  for 
her,"  thought  the  innocent  little  offender,  her 
faithful  heart  very  heavy.  She  went  sorrow- 
fully along  the  rough,  frozen  road,  a  broken 
stream  of  luster  from  the  sinking  sun  quivering 
on  the  way  before  her.  As  she  opened  her 
uncle's  gate  she  saw  Annie  Tomlinson  coming 
around  the  neighboring  house.  Nobody  must 
stop  her  now.  She  started  to  run,  and  did  not 
stop  until  her  hand  was  on  the  knob  of  the 
side  door. 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING. 

A  VERY  unhappy  Gertie  crept  stealthily  up 
the  stairs  and  into  the  guest-chamber  where 
she  and  Hilda  slept.  She  did  not  want  to  see 
any  one,  for  she  could  not  bear  a  word.  Up  to 
this  time  the  little  cousins  had  never  quarreled 
with  each  other,  and  the  present  state  of  affairs 
seemed  to  Gertie  too  dreadful  to  be  endured. 

There  was  a  deep,  cushioned  chair  beside 
the  window,  and  into  this  she  crept,  alter  noise- 
lessly closing  the  door.  The  lowering  daylight 
shone  on  the  white  wall  of  Mr.  Tomlinson's 
house  like  a  mantle  of  thin  golden  stuff  woven 
by  the  fairies.  The  sky  was  a  pale,  wintry 
blue ;  over  the  horizon  rose,  like  a  breath,  a 
green-gold  luster;  and  the  snow  on  every  roof 
in  sight  was  touched  with  a  tint  of  rose. 

The  beautiful  scene  caught  Gertie  away  from 
her  grief;  but  she  came  back  to  it  in  a  minute, 

269 


270  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

and  laid  her  head  on  the  soft  arm  of  the  chair 
with  a  long,  helpless  sigh. 

O,  she  felt  so  lonely !  Hilda  was  angry 
with  her.  Hilda  had  her  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters  to  sympathize  with  her  and  take  her 
part.  Gertie's  mother  was  far  away  in  the  South? 
and  she  could  see  her  father  only  once  or  twice 
a  week.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  till  now 
what  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  to  be  away  from 
home.  Then,  in  thought,  she  floated  away  to 
the  city.  How  wide  and  bright  and  clean 
looked  Walnut  Street,  with  its  rows  of  hand- 
some houses  and  lines  of  slender,  bare-armed 
trees !  She  went  through  every  room  of  her 
dear  home,  pausing  longest  where  she  had  so 
often  sat  with  her  mother.  She  involuntarily 
put  up  her  hand,  and  it  touched  a  tear  half-way 
down  her  cheek.  This  would  not  do. 

"Stop  crying,  Gertie  Winner!"  she  com- 
manded, shaking  herself  as  hard  as  she  could. 
"  I  must  divert  myself.  Now,  if  I  only  had  n't 
written  to  mamma  to-day,  I  might  do  that.  I 
wrote  her  four  pagft,  and  told  her  about  school 
and  Helen  Bland  and  how  Qtiillup  was  getting 
along." 

Quillup  !  To  be  sure.  What  a  shame  that 
she  had  not  thought  of  that  dear  cat  since  early 
in  the  morning !  Was  it  not  likely  that  he  was 
as  lonely  as  she  was  herself? 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         271 

"  For  '  cats  do  not  love  people,  but  places,' ' 
quoted  she,  getting  nimbly  on  her  feet.  "  I 
read  that  somewhere,  and  it 's  just  about  all 
the  consolation  I  have  when  I  see  how  he 
won't  be  still  and  let  us  put  him  where  we 
want  to." 

A  very  close  watch  was  kept  upon  u  Mr. 
Quillup,"  as  Archer  called  him.  If,  while  he 
was  in  the  kitchen,  the  outside  door  was  for  a 
moment  left  open,  he  must  be  tightly  clasped 
in  somebody's  arms,  or  he  would  be  out  of  doors 
like  a  flash;  and  then,  coax  as  one  might,  he 
would  not  come  in  until  he  chose.  There  was 
great  danger  that  he  might  sometime  choose  not 
to  return  at  all,  for  he  seemed  rather  discon- 
tented." 

"Is  Quillup  all  right?"  called  out  his  eager 
little  mistress,  fluttering  into  the  kitchen. 

Emma  was  just  crossing  the  floor  with  a 
large  dish  of  macaroni,  which  she  was  about  to 
put  into  the  oven.  Her  hands  were  fully  occu- 
pied, and,  as  she  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  answer  the  question  in  words,  she  nodded 
her  head  toward  the  table.  Under  the  table 
crouched  Quillup,  vigorously  gnawing  a  lamb- 
chop,  his  head  so  far  to  one  side  that  it  almost 
lay  on  the  floor.  The  favored  animal  had  meals 
served  to  him  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 

"  Now  you  've  had  enough  to  eat,"  said  Ger- 


•2TZ  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

tie,  getting  down  beside  him.  "  I  want  you  to 
come  to  me." 

Quillup  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  from 
his  repast  without  protest.  He  hid  his  head 
under  her  arm,  and  was  absolutely  motionless. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  doors  opened,  and 
Gertie  glanced  up  to  meet  Hilda's  solemn  gaze. 
Hilda  had  evidently  just  come  in ;  she  was  still 
hatted  and  cloaked,  and  held  her  silk  mittens  in 
her  hand.  For  one  instant  the  cousins  looked 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes.  Gertie  began 
to  flush  and  tremble,  but  Hilda's  face  did  not 
change.  She  drew  back  and  shut  the  door,  and 
her  slow  footsteps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs. 

Certainly  it  can  not  have  been  more  than 
three  minutes  after  this  that  Blanche  tried  to 
open  the  play-room  door.  It  was  locked,  and 
when  she  had  shaken  it  a  voice  was  heard,  de- 
manding : 

"Who's  there?" 

"  Blanche,"  replied  the  owner  of  that  name- 
"  Open  the  door,  Hilda." 

"  No,  you  can't  come  in,"  firmly  replied  her 
sister.  "  Won't  you  please  go  and  find  Gertie, 
and  tell  her  that  I  want  her?" 

"How  ridiculous!"  exclaimed  the  older  girl, 
provoked  and  yet  amused.  "  What  are  you 
doing  that  you  are  n't  willing  for  other  people 
to  see  ?" 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         273 

"  You  can't  come  in,  Blanche.  Do  please 
tell  Gertie."  A  sob  swallowed  the  rest  of  the 
sentence. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  Something  really  is  the 
matter,"  decided  Blanche,  running  hastily  down 
stairs.  She  found  Gertie  in  the  kitchen  with 
Quillup.  "  Hilda  wants  you  in  the  play-room, 
dear,"  said  she. 

How  suddenly  Mr.  Quillup  found  himself 
upon  the  hard  floor,  and  how  rapidly  Gertie's 
light  little  feet  traveled  the  way  to  the  play- 
room. The  door  opened  before  her,  but  the 
figure  behind  it  drew  away  at  once,  and  threw 
itself  on  the  floor  with  its  head  bowed  down 
on  the  old  wooden  rocking-chair.  Gertie  stood 
irresolute. 

"  Did  you  want  me,  Hilda?"  she  asked,  very 
gently. 

" O, Gertie, Gertie !"  sobbed  the  child.  "What 
made  you  run  away  from  me  just  when  I  needed 
you  the  most?  You  do  n't  love  me  a  bit,  and  I 
love  you  better  than  anybody  else  in  the  world 
as  young  as  you  are." 

This  was  Hilda's  way  of  guarding  against 
disloyalty  toward  the  members  of  her  own  fam- 
ily. They  were  all  older  than  Gertie. 

"O,  my  darling  dear!"  cried  the  affectionate 
cousin,  dropping  upon  the  floor,  and  beginning 
to  cry  on  Hilda's  curls.  "  I  love  you  better 

18 


274  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

than  you  possibly  can  love  me,  for  I  have  n't  any 
brothers  and  sisters." 

"  Do  you  love  me  better  than  Quillup?" 

The  question  was  not  very  distinct,  because 
it  came  through  a  mouth  held  close  to  the 
carpet. 

"If  you  aren't  joking,  you're  very  insult- 
ing," wept  Gertie.  "Would  I  be  so  wicked  as 
to  love  a  cat  better  than  a  real  person,  even  if 
it  was  n't  a  very  nice  person,  either?  I  thought 
you  did  n't  want  me  to  wait  for  you.  You  were 
mad  at  me,  Hilda,  and  I  do  n't  even  know  what 
I  did  to  make  you  so." 

Hilda  turned  over  on  her  back  and  stared 
tearfully  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"You  told  Miss  Esther  that  I  didn't  like 
Gilbertina's  name." 

"Yes,  so  I  did.  I  forgot  you  didn't  want 
any  one  to  know  that,  and  I  never  thought  of 
it  till  this  minute.  Won't  you  forgive  me,  pre- 
cious?" 

"  O  yes,  I  '11  forgive  you  !"  Hilda  threw  her 
arms  about  her  cousin,  and  drew  herself  up  to 
rest  against  Gertie's  shoulder.  "  I  did  n't  want 
to  be  mad  at  all ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  n't 
help  it.  Because  I  really  believe  my  heart  is 
broken  now,  just  like  you  said.  I  do  n't  want 
to  see  Gilbertina  again,  or  ever  speak  to  Fred 
or  Ernest  or  Percy  or  Helen  or  Miss  Esther." 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         275 

"  O,  Hilda,  Miss  Esther!  Helen  was  bad, 
but  I  guess  she  's  sorry  now." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  mad  at  her,"  said  Hilda, 
desolately.  "  Nor  at  any  one.  But  they  '11 
make  me  think  about  that  dreadful  name. 
Oh-h,  my  !" 

That  piteous  sigh  wrung  Gertie's  heart. 

"  Poor,  poor  girl!"  she  murmured,  beginning 
to  rub  Hilda's  forehead,  in  hope  of  soothing  her 
grief. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Gertie  Winner  ?"  cried 
the  sufferer,  wildly.  "  O,  darling  Gertie  Win- 
ner, tell  me  what  to  do!" 

"Tell  your  mother,"  whispered  Gertie. 

"  You  know  I  can't,"  returned  Hilda,  laying 
her  flushed  cheek  against  her  cousin's  pale  face. 
"  You  know  how  I  feel  about  it.  It  is  worse 
now  than  it  was  to  begin  with,  because  I  've  let 
it  go  so  long." 

"It  is  worse,"  admitted  Gertie  ;  "  but  if  you 
do  n't  tell  now  it  will  be  worser  still.  Hilda,  do 
tell  Aunt  Grace.  If  you  '11  only  just  believe  me, 
I  '11  say  something,  and  this  is  it:  once  you  tell 
her  she  '11  fix  it  all  right  with  your  uncle,  and 
tell  everybody  to  stop  talking  about  it,  and 
everything  will  be  all  right,  and  you  will  be 
happy  again." 

The  curly  head  shook  unbelievingly. 

"But    I'm    sure,"  urged  Gertie.     "It  isn't 


276  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

just  as  if  I  thought  it  might  be  so.  I  know,  be- 
cause I  've  tried  it.  My  mamma  always  makes 
things  right  for  me." 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  declared  Hilda,  after  a  short 
pause.  "  Even  if  she  fixed  it  so  Uncle  Gilbert 
would  n't  care,  I  know  she  could  n't  help  feel- 
ing bad  herself;  because,  you  see,  Uncle  Gilbert 
is  her  brother.  But,  Gertie,  we  must  fix  it 
somehow — some  other  way.  If  I'm  teased  any 
more,  I  believe  I  '11  jump  out  the  window." 

Fortunately  Gertie  was  not  silly  enough  to 
be  frightened  with  this  foolish  threat;  but  she 
knew  that  her  dear  cousin  felt  very  badly,  so  she 
knitted  her  brows,  and  tried  to  think  how  mat- 
ters could  be  made  better. 

"What  if  you'd  put  Gilbertina  away,  and 
keep  on  saying,  'O  no,  I  do  n't  want  to  get  her 
out  now,'  till  people  forgot  all  about  her?  But 
you  love  her  too  much  to  do  that,  do  n't  you?" 

"I  love  her,"  answered  Hilda,  wretchedly; 
"but  shutting  her  up  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  than  being  tormented  and  tormented. 
But  I  could  n't  ever  do  it.  Everybody  would 
make  such  a  fuss,  and  so  would  Blanche  too. 
She  'd  say  I  did  n't  like  my  own  doll,  and  that 
would  make  Uncle  Gilbert  think  I  was  dread- 
fully queer." 

u  Well,  then,"  and  for  two  speechless  min- 
utes Gertie  was  plunged  in  thought.  "  If  we 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         277 

could  manage  to  punish  every  one  that  teased 
us.  What  if  we  should  have  a  piece  of  ribbon 
with  a  pin  in  the  end  of  it — elastic  ribbon,  you 
know — and  throw  it  at  them  when  they  were  n't 
looking — narrow  elastic,  of  course — and  every 
time  anybody 'd  say  Gilbertina,  they'd  feel  some- 
thing sticking  them  in  their  hand.  Then  we  'd 
draw  it  away  quick,  and  they  would  n't  know 
what  hurt  them." 

Gertie  was  so  much  interested  in  her  project 
that  she  did  not  observe  her  cousin's  darken- 
ing face. 

"Don't  you  remember  Prince  Charming?'' 
she  questioned  eagerly.  "  He  learned  to  be  good 
by  having  a  ring  prick  him  whenever  he  was 
bad.  I  just  believe  this  is  the  way  for  us  to 
teach  peeple." 

"  Stick  a  pin  into  my  own  mamma  ?"  ex- 
claimed Hilda,  seriously  offended. 

Gertie  was  so  overwhelmed  with  surprise 
that  it  was  half  a  minute  before  she  could  speak. 

"  Not  your  mamma,"  she  stammered.  "  Not 
ever  her !  Why,  what  made  you  think  of  such 
a  thing?" 

"  You  did  !"  returned  Hilda,  fiercely.  "  She 
says  Gilbertina  every  day,  almost ;  and  your 
mamma  would  too,  if  she  were  here.  Then 
would  you  stick  a  pin  into  your  mamma,  Gertie 
Winner?" 


278  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  I  only  meant  people  that  said  it  to  tease," 
murmured  poor  Gertie,  quite  crushed  by  her 
cousin's  indignation. 

This  was  the  second  time  she  had  offended 
when  she  was  trying  to  be  kind. 

"  Well,  I  sha'  n't  pin-stick  anybody,"  an- 
nounced Hilda,  loftily. 

The  dinner-bell  rang  just  then,  and  both 
were  glad  to  have  their  conversation  inter- 
rupted ;  the  longer  they  talked,  the  less  good 
talking  seemed  to  do.  They  went  down-stairs 
with  their  arms  around  each  other,  finding  it  very 
agreeable  to  be  on  pleasant,  every-day  terms 
once  more.  It  was  always  their  custom  to  feed 
Quillup  as  soon  as  their  own  meal  was  finished, 
and  this  evening  they  went  into  the  kitchen 
with  a  large  plate  of  scraps.  Quillup's  saucer 
gleamed  white  under  the  table,  but  no  motion- 
less figure  sat  near  it,  with  round,  yellow  eyes 
glaring  expectantly  out. 

"  Is  Mr.  Quillup  down  cellar,  Emma?"  asked 
Hilda. 

Emma  shook  her  head. 

"Why,  then— where?" 

"  Your  cat 's  gone,  sure  enough,  Miss  Gertie," 
said  the  colored  girl.  "'T  was  n't  me  opened  the 
door ;  't  was  Aunt  Nobe,  when  she  was  here. 
And  come  in  he  would  n't,  and  went  away  down 
through  the  orchard." 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING.         279 

"  O,  why  didn't  you  call  us?"  cried  the 
children. 

"  Quick  !  let 's  put  something  around  us,  and 
go  down  to  the  orchard  after  him  !"  exclaimed 
Gertie,  making  a  sharp  turn  to  run  up-stairs, 
and  bumping  against  Archer,  who  had  just  fol- 
lowed them  from  the  dining-room. 

He  said  it  was  of  no  use  to  go  ;  they  could 
not  find  the  kitten  in  the  dark,  even  if  he  was 
still  in  the  orchard,  and  certainly  he  was  not 
there.  If  he  had  not  wandered  farther  away,  he 
would  have  returned  to  the  house  before  this. 
But,  because  he  pitied  the  distressed  little  girls, 
Archer  drew  on  his  overcoat,  and  went  down 
with  them  among  the  black  shadows  of  the 
trees.  They  called  and  called,  but  all  without 
effect,  and  Gertie  wiped  a  tear  away  as  she  came 
silently  back.  Hilda  slipped  her  hand  into  her 
cousin's,  to  give  it  a  long,  strong  squeeze.  They 
loved  each  other  very  much,  these  two  little 
girls,  even  if  they  were  not  always  perfectly 
happy  together. 


MARGARET   COMES. 

IT  was  the  second  morning  after  Quillup's  dis- 
appearance that  Gertie  and  Hilda  overslept 
their  usual  time  of  rising.  Rose  had  wielded 
the  broom  energetically  just  outside  their  door, 
and  Ernest  had  clumped  past  to  ask  down  the 
back-stairs  whether  Emma  had  seen  his  necktie, 
which  he  thought  he  had  left  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  but  the  two  heads  still  lay  motionless  on 
their  pillows,  and  the  round,  white  eyelids  did 
not  even  tremble  as  if  they  were  going  to  lift. 

Presently  Blanche   pounded   the    door  until 
Gertie  started  up  in  bed  and  screamed  out : 

" What's  the  matter?" 

"The  matter  is,  it's  time  to  get  up,"  answered 
Blanche,  turning  the  knob  and  walking  in,  as 
she  might  have  done  in  the  first  place.  But  it 
does  not  seem  proper  to  wake  heavy  sleepers  in 
any  other  way  than  by  battering  their  door, 
280 


MARGARET  COMES.  281 

"Why,  we  aren't  late,  are  we?"  inquired 
Gertie,  flashing  out  of  bed,  and  beginning  to 
pull  on  her  stockings,  while  Hilda  sat  up  and 
looked  gloomy. 

"  Late  enough  for  you  to  be  glad  it  is  Sat- 
urday morning,  so  you  need  n't  hurry  to  school. 
Get  up,  Hilda;  it  makes  Emma  cross  to  keep 
the  table  waiting."  And  Miss  Craig's  slim,  neat 
figure  vanished  through  the  doorway,  to  the  great 
contentment  of  those  whom  she  had  disturbed. 

Hilda  was  so  drowsy  that  she  did  not  want 
to  stir.  Emma  might  be  cross  if  she  chose  ;  she 
might  even  clear  oflf  the  table,  and  leave  her 
breakfastless.  Usually,  she  and  Gertie  ran  a 
race  with  their  dressing,  but  Gertie  was  welcome 
to  be  dressed  first  to-day.  She  turned  over  on 
her  side,  crooked  her  elbow  under  her  head,  and 
stared  sleepily  at  her  cousin  through  partly- 
closed  eyelids. 

Gertie's  chattering  helped  to  rouse  her,  and 
presently  she  summoned  energy  enough  to  get 
up.  But  she  was  not  more  than  half-dressed 
when  Gertie  went  down  to  the  dining-room, 
where  the  two  boys  were  the  only  persons  left 
at  table.  She  worked  more  speedily  after  that, 
for  she  did  not  like  to  eat  alone. 

Coming  down  the  front  staircase,  after  going 
into  her  mother's  room  for  a  kiss,  a  faint,  unu- 
sual sound  floated  up  to  her  ears,  It  was  so  low 


282  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

that  she  could  scarcely  be  sure  she  had  heard 
it — it  seemed  like  only  the  hint  of  a  sound.  But 
she  stood  still,  and  looked  at  the  front  door. 

"  Me-oo  !"  whispered  something. 

"  Could  Quillup  be  outside  there,  do  you 
think  ?"  the  child  asked  herself  half  aloud.  "  O, 
could  he  ?  Would  n't  Gertie  be  glad  !" 

And  she  hastened  down  the  few  remaining 
steps  to  fling  open  the  door.  There  sat  a  meek, 
unstirring  object.  Quillup's  eyes  were  only 
half  open,  and  he  looked  at  her  with  a  weary 
sadness,  as  if  he  were  actually  too  tired  to  move 
even  a  claw. 

A  moment  later  and  he  was  entering  the 
dining-room,  a  silky  heap  of  black  and  white, 
cuddled  against  Hilda's  brown  dress. 

Archer  looked  up  from  his  egg. 

"  What  have  you  got  there  ?"  he  inquired 
suspiciously. 

"  O,  Hilda,  what  have  you  got?"  cried  Ger- 
tie, in  a  flutter  of  hope,  jumping  up  to  bring 
her  short-sighted  eyes  nearer  to  the  spotted, 
furry  lump.  "  Quillup  !  O,  my  Mr.  Quillup  ! 
Where  did  you  get  him,  you  darling?"  she  de- 
manded, hugging  cat  and  cousin  together. 

"  He  was  outside  the  front  door,  mewing, 
when  I  came  down  stairs.  I  tell  you,  I  was 
glad  !  He  's  so  tired  and  sleepy  he  can't  hardly 
move — two  whole  nights  and  one  whole  day 


MARGARET  COMES.  283 

wandering  all  around  the  world  without  any 
home.  You  stop  laughing,  boys." 

"Yes,  I  wouldn't  laugh  at  an  unfortunate 
dumb  animal,"  said  Gertie,  collecting  scraps  of 
beefsteak. 

Quillup  certainly  showed  the  ill  effects  of  an 
unsettled  life ;  he  was  both  hungry  and  tired. 
After  a  plentiful  breakfast,  he  went  down  cellar 
and  settled  himself  for  a  nap,  which  lasted  till 
twilight.  Gertie  pitied  him,  but  hoped  that  he 
would  learn  from  his  sufferings  to  stay  with 
those  who  treated  him  kindly. 

Although  this  was  Saturday,  it  was  a  very 
busy  day.  At  ten  o'clock  Hilda  and  the  boys 
had  to  go  to  the  school-room,  to  rehearse  for  a 
little  entertainment,  which  was  to  be  given  just 
before  the  Christmas  holidays.  It  was  chiefly 
for  practice  in  singing  that  they  were  wanted, 
for  Professor  Clavel  was  teaching  them  the  Mar- 
seillaise. 

Gertie  did  not  accompany  them  ;  she  needed 
the  time  for  the  Christmas  gifts  she  had  be- 
gun to  make.  Blanche  was  occupied  in  like 
manner,  and  so  was  Esther  Madison,  who  had 
come  down  from  the  city  to  spend  Saturday  and 
Sunday  with  her  friend.  The  two  girls  were 
quite  willing  that  Gertie  should  sit  with  them 
while  she  sewed.  Mrs.  Craig  completed  the 
party,  and  they  spent  a  very  happy  morning. 


284  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

It  was  pleasure  enough  for  Gertie  to  handle 
such  dainty  materials  as  were  required  for  her 
work,  and  to  this  was  added  the  delightful  ex- 
perience of  receiving  many  compliments  on  her 
skill.  Blanche  thought  it  wonderful,  and  de- 
clared that  Hilda  must  learn  to  sew  without 
farther  delay.  It  was  disgraceful  that  she  was 
so  ignorant. 

There  was  a  hurry  of  hiding  pretty  things 
when  a  rush  of  feet  on  the  porch  announced 
the  return  of  the  children.  In  they  came, 
sparkling  and  merry,  casting  curious  looks  at 
the  stay-at-home  party  as  they  crowded  around 
the  fire  to  warm  their  hands. 

"You  're  making  Christmas  gifts  ;  I  know  it," 
sang  Ernest. 

They  would  not  leave  the  room,  although 
Blanche  gave  them  some  plain  hints  to  do  so. 
It  was  their  mother's  room,  and  no  one  but  her- 
self should  drive  them  from  it.  But  they  were 
kind  enough  to  retire  to  the  bay-window  after  a 
while,  taking  Gertie  with  them.  Then  the  two 
older  girls  turned  their  backs  to  the  daylight, 
and  went  on  with  their  work  under  difficulties  ; 
for  the  fire  scorched  their  faces  and  dazzled  their 
eyes. 

"  Now,  then,  Gertie,  if  you  like  fun  you  ought 
to  have  gone  with  us  this  morning.  Ought  n't 
she,  Hilda?"  asked  Ernest,  who,  in  company 


MARGARET  COMES.  285 

with  his  brother,  reclined  upon  the  carpet  while 
the  girls  occupied  the  two  hassocks. 

"Everybody made  mistakes, "chuckled  Hilda. 
"  Why,  we  did  ourselves,  and  we  knew  every 
word  perfect  before." 

"Ah,  but  the  singing!  There's  where  the 
fun  came  in.  Never  saw  such  a  lot  of  stupids 
before;  did  you,  Arch?" 

"  Never,"  replied  the  latter,  in  a  manly 
manner. 

"  Arch  and  Hilda  and  I  knew  the  Marseil- 
laise all  through,  but  hardly  anybody  else  did. 
Now,  that's  a  fact." 

"Well,  Miss  Esther  has  played  it  a  good 
many  times  for  you  to  practice,"  was  Gertie's 
inconvenient  reminder. 

"Didn't  the  professor  get  mad,  though?'' 
went  on  Ernest,  while  Archer  laughed.  "  He 
rumpled  up  his  hair,  and  threw  his  arms  around 
as  if  he  was  going  through  the  ceiling.  Just  a 
few  of  us  w7ould  sing  the  verses,  and  then  all 
the  rest  came  yelling  in  on  the  chorus.  Squeak, 
howl !  O,  I  say,  Arch,  let 's  show  Gertie  how  it 
sounded!" 

Accordingly  the  two  boys  began  to  sing, 
"  Tra  la  la,  hum  hum,  la,  la,"  they  murmured, 
then  suddenly  burst  into  a  loud,  coarse  "Yah 
rah,  yah  rah  rah  rah,"  which  sent  Gertie  tum- 
bling from  her  hassock  in  a  spasm  of  laughter. 


286  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Boys,  boys,  have  pity  !"  screamed  Blanche, 
letting  her  work  fall  on  the  fender,  so  great  was 
her  alarm.  "  What  are  you  doing  that  for?" 

"O,"  returned  Archer,  startled  and  rather 
ashamed,  "we're  just  singing  the  way  they  do 
at  school." 

"  Do  they  teach  you  to  sing  like  that  at  your 
school  ?"  asked  Esther.  "  It  must  be  a  new  and 
original  method,  not  likely  to  be  popular,  I 
should  say." 

It  was  found  possible  to  continue  the  sewing- 
bee  that  afternoon ;  for  Archer  went  to  the  city 
on  the  two  o'clock  train,  and  Ernest  and  Hilda 
shut  themselves  into  the  library  to  study  their 
lessons  for  Monday.  The  house  became  strangely 
quiet;  Rose  was  sewing  in  her  own  room,  and 
Emma  silently  at  her  task  in  the  kitchen.  The 
little  students  began  to  feel  the  effect  of  so 
much  quiet  and  warmth  after  their  lively  morn- 
ing and  brisk  exercise  in  the  sharp  air.  Ernest 
yawned  repeatedly,  and  Hilda's  lids  drooped. 
The  girl,  however,  managed  to  accomplish  more 
studying  than  the  boy;  just  as  he  threw  himself 
on  the  lounge,  to  try  whether  lying  on  his  back 
would  assist  him  to  spell,  she  closed  her  last 
book  and  laid  it  aside. 

"  Now,  Hilda,"  grumbled  Ernest,  "  you 
haven't  gone  and  got  all  your  lessons?  It's 
real  mean.  I  do  n't  believe  you  know  your 


MARGARET  COMES.  287 

spelling  a  bit  better  than  I  do.  Let 's  hear  each 
other." 

Hilda  was  willing.  But  the  result  proved 
that  while  she  knew  all  the  words,  he  had  but 
an  imperfect  acquaintance  with  two-thirds  of 
them.  He  would  not  ask  her  to  stay  in  the 
room  while  he  studied,  but  she  was  sure  that 
he  wished  her  to  do  so  ;  therefore,  she  quietly 
got  out  her  box  of  crayons,  and  began  to  color 
the  pictures  in  her  geography. 

"You'll  have  to  make  the  water  yellow," 
observed  her  brother,  glancing  at  the  pretty 
lake  scene  about  to  masquerade  as  a  tea-store 
chromo,  "  because  we  have  n't  any  white 
crayons." 

"  But  I  do  n't  believe  water  is  white,  Ernie." 

"White?  Of  course  it  is.  What  is  it  then, 
if  it  is  n't  white?" 

"  Blue  I  think,"  and  Hilda  looked  at  him 
timidly.  "  It  says  so  in  poetry  : 

'The  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee.'" 

"Pshaw!"  said  Ernest.  "Poetry  is  n't  pic- 
tures. Pictures  have  to  look  like  real  things, 
and  poetry  does  n't.  But  I  do  n't  care  ;  you  can 
make  it  blue  if  you  want  to.  I  've  got  to  study, 
and  you  must  n't  bother." 

The  next  interruption  was  the  ringing  of 
the  door-bell,  which  sent  a  sudden,  clanging 


288  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

noise  through  the  silent  house.  Both  children 
jumped,  then  were  very  still  to  listen,  while 
the  color  was  coming  back  to  their  cheeks. 
They  heard  Rose  going  up-stairs,  and  then  the 
soft  sweep  of  their  mother's  cashmere  robe  as 
she  came  down.  What  surprised  them  was  her 
exclamation  at  the  parlor  door.  She  was  evi- 
dently greeting  some  one  whom  she  was  sur- 
prised to  see,  and  an  animated  dialogue  began 
at  once  ;  the  voices,  but  not  the  words,  were 
audible  to  the  listening  children. 

Ernest  pulled  the  door  cautiously  ajar,  and 
peeped  through  the  crack.  He  could  thus  ob- 
tain a  limited  view  of  the  opposite  apartment. 

"  It's  a  lady  and  a  little  girl,"  he  murmured, 
drawing  back.  "  They  've  got  their  hats  off, 
and  they  look  real  comfortable.  What  if  they 
stay  all  night?" 

Hilda's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  she  was 
accustomed  to  take  straightforward  measures  for 
its  gratification.  If  the  lady  had  taken  off  her 
bonnet,  she  must  certainly  be  something  more 
than  an  ordinary  caller.  Besides,  a  little  girl 
was  an  interesting  mystery.  Who  could  she 
be  ?  And  why  was  not  Hilda  summoned  to 
make  her  acquaintance  ? 

Ernest  heard  the  crayons  rattling  back  into 
their  box  while  he  was  still  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  return  to  his  study. 


MARGARET  COMES.  289 

u  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  'm  going  into  the  parlor.  I  should  think 
mamma  would  want  me  when  there  is  a  little 
girl  there." 

"Well,  say  then,  Hilda,  won't  you  come 
and  tell  me  who  they  are?"  coaxed  the  boy. 
"  I  want  to  know  as  much  as  you  do." 

His  sister  did  not  promise.  She  was  twist- 
ing her  neck  to  see  whether  her  apron-strings 
were  nicely  tied.  Then  she  opened  the  door 
and  walked  quickly  across  the  hall. 

"  Come  in,  Hilda,"  her  mother  said,  seeing 
the  hesitating  figure  on  the  threshold.  "This 
is  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Milman,  whom  I  have 
not  seen  for  years,  and  this  little  girl  is  Mar- 
garet." 

Mrs.  Milman  was  a  large,  fresh-faced  woman, 
in  a  tight,  dark-green  traveling-dress.  She  held 
Hilda's  hand,  and  exclaimed  over  her  likeness 
to  her  mother,  taking  the  opportunity  to  make 
signs  to  Mrs.  Craig,  which  the  child  was  sup- 
posed not  to  see,  expressive  of  her  opinion  that 
the  delicately-tinted  face  and  dark,  rich  curls 
were  captivatingly  pretty. 

But  what  a  funny  creature  the  other  visitor 
was!  She  was  a  very  little  girl,  indeed — a  mere 
mite — and  she  was  sitting  in  the  largest  chair 
in  the  room,  her  tiny  feet  sticking  over  the  edge 
of  the  blue  plush  cushion ;  a  delicate,  sallow 

19 


290  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

child,  about  three  years  old,  with  dark  hair 
clipped  close  to  her  diminutive  head.  She  gave 
a  queer,  quick  smile  when  she  was  addressed, 
and  said.,  "How  do?"  in  a  soft,  melodious  voice  ; 
but  when  Hilda  attempted  to  give  her  a  kiss  she 
squealed  sharply,  slipped  from  her  chair,  and 
ran  to  her  mother.  There  she  stood,  with  one 
hand  on  Mrs.  Milman's  knee,  looking  up  at 
Hilda  with  sullen  eyes  and  prominent  lips. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  for  Hilda 
looked  mortified  and  embarrassed.  "  She  does 
not  feel  acquainted  with  you  yet.  Wait  awhile. 
It  is  all  strange  to  Margaret  now,  you  know. 
Will  you  ask  Blanche  and  Esther  to  come 
down  ?" 

Blanche  felt  confident  that  she,  at  any  rate, 
would  meet  with  no  difficulty  in  making  friends 
with  Margaret ;  but  she  found  out  her  mistake. 
The  little  lady  would  not  allow  herself  to  be 
touched,  and  scarcely  a  syllable  could  be  wrung 
from  her  tongue,  in  spite  of  sugary  compliments 
and  the  most  alluring  display  of  interest  in  her 
clothes. 

"  O,  I  know  what  Margaret  would  like !" 
Blanche  exclaimed,  at  last.  "  Such  a  pretty, 
pretty  doll !  Would  n't  you  like  that,  darling  ? 
A  doll  'most  as  big  as  Margaret  is,  with  O,  such 
pretty  hair!" 

Margaret  began  to  look  interested,  and  when 


MARGARET  COMES.  291 

Blanche  suggested  that  she  should  go  with  her 
to  "  find  the  pretty  baby,"  she  pulled  her  moth- 
er's sleeve,  and  looked  up  in  her  face  as  if  for 
advice.  Mrs.  Mil  man  set  the  little  feet  upon 
the  floor,  and  recommended  Margaret  to  let  the 
lady  take  her  hand.  After  this  she  was  led  tri- 
umphantly away,  her  steps  slow  and  tottering, 
owing  to  a  tendency  to  crook  her  foot  and  walk 
upon  the  side  of  it,  which  tendency  threatened 
the  breaking  of  the  ankle. 

The  owner  of  Gilbertina  heard  her  sister's 
suggestion  with  some  alarm.  Notwithstanding 
the  trouble  which  that  insubordinate  doll  had 
occasioned,  she  was  not  willing  to  yield  it  to 
the  self-willed  infant.  Therefore  she  went  after 
her  with  all  speed,  arriving  in  the  library  in 
time  to  witness  Margaret's  first  sight  of  the  doll, 
and  Ernest's  first  near  view  of  Margaret. 

It  was  much  too  near  to  please  him.  When 
a  boy  is  lying  placidly  on  his  back,  swinging 
his  feet  aloft,  it  is  startling  to  have  a  tiny 
maiden  toddle  into  the  room  and  stop  short  to 
stare  at  him  with  eyes  as  black  as  beads. 
Blanche  lifted  Gilbertina  from  the  pile  of  news- 
papers upon  which  Ernest  had  laid  her,  and  held 
the  fascinating  figure  before  the  little  guest. 

"  Have  !"  remarked  Margaret,  concisely,  mak- 
ing a  dive  forward. 

The  small  hands  were  strong  and  determined. 


292  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

It  would  have  required  more  force  to  resist 
them  than  Blanche  could  bring  herself  to  ex- 
ert ;  so  she  reluctantly  yielded  her  clasp,  giving 
Hilda  a  conscience-stricken  glance  as  she  did 
so.  Margaret  immediately  made  a  short  turn, 
and  trotted  off  to  the  parlor ;  she  held  Gilber- 
tina  by  both  her  hands,  dragging  her  draperies 
over  the  floor  and  frequently  stepping  upon 
them. 

--_  "  O,  go  after  her !"  Blanche  called  out,  start- 
ing to  run.  "  She  '11  trip— she  '11  fall—" 

And  fall  she  did,  just  as  she  was  entering 
the  parlor ;  she  fell  over  Gilbertina,  and  if  that 
much-enduring  member  of  society  uttered  a  cry, 
either  of  fright  or  pain,  it  was  drowned  in  the 
terrific  screams  which  the  throat  of  Margaret 
sent  forth.  Mrs.  Mil  man  reached  the  spot  just 
as  Blanche  was  trying  to  lift  her  up. 

"  Mamma's  poor,  poor,  precious  baby  !  No, 
there  should  n't  anybody  but  mamma  pick  her 
up;  all  the  bad,  big  girls  should  go  away," 
whimpered  she.  "  Let 's  go  back  to  mamma's 
chair,  and  sit  on  mamma's  lap  till  we  feel  real 
well  again." 

Margaret  tried  to  keep  on  crying,  but  found 
it  hard  work,  and  gave  it  up.  The  lady  nodded 
and  smiled  at  Blanche  and  Hilda  over  her 
shoulder,  and  made  signs  to  the  latter  to  bring 
the  doll. 


MARGARET  COMES.  293 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  watch  mamma  whip  the 
bad  doll-baby  that  threw  her  darling  little  girlie 
down.  There,  there,  there  !  Now,  will  she  ever 
do  that  any  more?" 

Hilda  was  disgusted  at  what  she  mentally 
called  the  babyishness  of  Margaret's  mother, 
and  very  indignant"at  her  for  venturing  to  strike 
Gilbertina.  So  was  Gertie,  whom  the  shrieks 
had  brought  down-stairs.  The  large,  ringed 
hand  beat  the  airy  dress  until  it  fluttered,  al- 
though the  violence  of  the  strokes  was  largely 
pretense.  Margaret  smiled  in  a  glimmering 
way ;  then  she  wriggled  herself  free  from  her 
mother's  encircling  arm. 

"  Want  ze  baby  !"  said  she. 

"  O,  the  darling,  good  girl!  She  isn't  mad 
at  the  bad  dolly  for  throwing  her  down?  Well, 
she  should  have  the  dolly,  so  she  should. 
Shall  we  ask  the  little  girl  what  the  dolly's 
name  is?" 

Margaret  nodded,  looking  at  Hilda  over  the 
flaxen  curls  which  were  unpleasantly  near  her 
open  mouth.  Hilda  had  to  struggle  to  speak, 
for  a  multitude  of  disagreeable  feelings  seemed 
to  be  swelling  her  throat. 

"Gilbertina." 

"  Well,  did^we  ever  hear  such  a  great,  long, 
ugly  name  ?"  commented  Mrs.  Milman,  still  ad- 
dressing her  child.  "  Shall  we  name  it  anothei 


294  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

name — a  pretty  name,  dearie  ?  Something  that 
mamma's  little  Margaret  can  say  ?" 

Gertie  and  Hilda  glanced  at  each  other,  si- 
lently expressing  what  they  did  not  dare  to  ar- 
ticulate— that  this  was  decidedly  cool.  Indeed, 
Hilda  was  so  angry  that  she  ought  to  have  felt 
ashamed.  Mrs.  Milman  never  dreamed  that  she 
could  offend  any  one  by  the  nonsense  which  it 
was  her  custom  to  talk  to  trie  baby.  The  habit 
was  foolish,  indeed  ;  and  a  clear-headed  child  is 
a  very  sensible  critic ;  but  Hilda  need  not  have 
considered  her  rights  in  danger  because  it  was 
proposed  to  exchange  the  name  of  Gilbertina 
for  one  more  easily  pronounced.  The  sugges- 
tion did  not  meet  with  Margaret's  approval. 
She  patted  the  doll's  eyebrows,  and  said  affec- 
tionately : 

"  Tiltina." 

As  her  voice  was  musical,  this  sounded  very 
sweet,  and  won  a  chorus  of  applause.  "  Tiltina  " 
came  rapidly  into  vogue,  as  a  substitue  for  the 
longer  and  statelier  name,  because,  as  Gertie  ex- 
plained, with  curling  lip  : 

"  Everybody  else  thought  they  could  say  it 
just  as.sweet." 


Chapter*  ]£VJ. 

A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT. 

you  like  Margaret?"  Hilda  asked  her 
cousin,  while  they  were  getting  ready  to 
start  for  the  music-room  the  next  Monday  af- 
ternoon. 

Hilda  was  by  this  time  pretty  sure  that  she 
herself  did  not  like  Margaret  at  all,  and  she  had 
not  been  without  opportunity  for  deciding.  Ev- 
erybody seemed  to  be  willing  that  she  should 
have  a  great  deal  of  the  child's  society,  and  to 
labor  under  the  delusion  that  this  was  what  she 
especially  desired.  "  Hilda  wants  to  take  you 
walking,  lovey,"  Mrs.  Milman  would  say  ;  or, 
"  Hilda  is  going  to  build  you  a  pretty  house  out 
of  books,  and  make  some  paper  dollies  to  live  in 
it."  There  seemed  to  be  no  limit  to  this  lady's 
imagination ;  she  could  devise  the  most-charming 
things  to  be  accomplished  by  somebody  else,  and 
Hilda  was  her  favorite  agent.  This  sort  of 

295 


296  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

treatment  was  quite  new  to  the  little  girl,  who, 
as  the  youngest  of  the  family,  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  be  served  rather  than  to  serve 
others ;  and  she  found  it  very  hard  to  have  her 
playtime  curtailed  and  her  amusements  embit- 
tered for  the  sake  of  a  child  whom  she  disliked 
more  with  each  succeeding  day. 

Mrs.  Milman  wanted  all  her  time  for  her  dear 
old  friend  ;  she  thought  Hilda  might  be  willing 
to  give  up  her  own  pleasure  for  her  mother's 
sake,  even  if  Margaret  were  not  the  most  capti- 
vating child  in  all  the  land.  And  for  all  Hilda 
knew,  Mrs.  Craig  thought  the  same.  She  was 
placid  and  gentle  as  ever.  It  was  not  her  cus- 
tom to  interfere  unless  there  was  good  reason 
for  such  action  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  saw 
that  a  little  self-sacrifice  and  quiet  submission  to 
annoyance  would  help  Hilda  to  learn  the  lesson  of 
life.  Still,  she  was  not  willing  to  have  her  tried 
too  severely.  Several  times  an  apparently  care- 
less word  from  her  lips  saved  the  little  girl  from 
a  strain  upon  her  patience,  and  sent  her  joyfully 
away  into  freedom  just  as  she  trembled  in  her 
captor's  clutch. 

You  see  that  Mrs.  Craig  understood  the  situ- 
ation better  than  was  likely  to  be  suspected. 
It  did  not  take  her  long  to  discover  that  the 
friend  who  had  been  a  companionable  girl  had 
grown  away  from  her  as  she  grew  older.  If  she 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  297 

had  considered  only  her  own  happiness,  she 
would  have  wished  Margaret  left  with  her 
mother. 

Gertie  considered  for  a  moment  before  she 
replied  to  Hilda's  question. 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  I  think  I  'd  like  her 
better  if  her  mother  didn't  like  her  so  well." 

"  If  her  mother  likes  her,  I  wish  she  'd  build 
houses  for  her,"  said  Hilda,  turning  with  a 
roughened  brow  toward  Blanche,  who  just  then 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"Hilda,"  said  the  latter,  "Mrs.  Milman  has 
been  asking  for  you." 

Hilda  made  a  dash  for  her  hat,  which  was 
lying  upon  the  bed,  and  seized  it  in  such  haste 
that  she  drew  it  up  by  the  feather. 

"  But  I  'm  all  ready  to  go  out.  I  'm  later 
for  my  music-lesson  now  than  I  generally  am. 
Gertie,  are  you  ready  ?" 

"  I  forgot  about  your  music-lesson."  Blanche 
heaved  a  sigh  and  looked  discontented.  "Well, 
are  you  willing  to  let  Margaret  hold  Gilbertina  ? 
It's  a  shame,  I  know  it  is;  but  it  seems  as  if 
none  of  us  can  have  our  own  way  any  more." 

The  fair  Gilbertina  had  removed  from  the 
library,  and  found  a  refuge  in  Blanche's  room, 
which,  since  the  arrival  of  the  visitors,  she 
shared  with  the  two  younger  girls.  It  was 
Blanche  who  had  hidden  her  away,  because  of 


298  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Margaret's  too  persistent  attentions.  But  the 
precaution  had  been  taken  too  late.  Out  of 
sight  was  not  out  of  mind  with  Margaret ;  and 
when  she  asked  for  anything,  she  was  apt  to 
keep  on  asking  until  she  obtained  it. 

"Yes,  she  can  have  her,"  was  the  unexpect- 
edly prompt  answer,  as  Hilda  pushed  past.  Her 
wary  ear  had  heard  a  door  open,  and  if  Marga- 
ret and  her  mother  were  coming  she  was  cow- 
ardly enough  to  wish  Blanche  to  meet  them 
alone. 

But  she  did  not  escape.  An  ample  figure 
swept  down  the  hall,  with  a  tiny  form  seesaw- 
ing along  at  its  side. 

"  O,  there's  Hilda,"  cried  the  cheery  voice  of 
Mrs.  Milman.  "Good  Hilda!  She's  got  her 
hat  and  cloak  on,  all  ready  to  take  Margaret  out 
walking." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Milman,  I  can't,"  declared  Hilda, 
tremulous  but  determined.  "  I  've  got  to  hurry 
right  off  to  my  music-lesson." 

"  O,  pshaw  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Milrnan,  as  if 
she  thought  that  a  very  lame  excuse.  "  Poor 
little  Margaret  is  so  lonely.  Well,  your  lesson 
will  be  over  in  half  an  hour,  I  suppose." 

"It  lasts  three-quarters  sometimes,  and  once 
it  lasted  an  hour." 

"  O,  but  to-day  you  mustn't  let  it  last  so  long. 
Your  mamma  is  going  to  take  me  to  Mrs.Wrax- 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  299 

all's,  and  I  shall  have  to  leave  Margaret  in  your 
care.  Now,  do  hurry  back,  Hilda,  or  it  will  be 
too  late  for  us  to  go.  I  did  want  to  start  at  once." 

"  Well,"  snapped  Hilda,  running  angrily 
down-stairs. 

She  opened  the  door  and  rushed  out  at  the 
same  furious  pace,  and  Gertie  had  to  hurry  to 
catch  up  with  her.  It  is  very  unpleasant  to  be 
talked  to  in  Mrs.  Milman's  way;  yet  I  wish  that 
Hilda  had  kept  her  temper. 

"  Now,  there  's  no  going  to  Helen's  to-day. 
I  wish  Mrs.  Milman  and  Margaret  were  sent  to 
the  Sandwich  Islands.  I  do  wish  that!" 

"I  do  n't  see  why  Margaret  could  n't  go 
to  Mrs.  Wraxall's  along  with  her  mother,"  said 
Gertie,  giving  Hilda's  mitten  a  sympathiz- 
ing pat. 

"  Yes.  Who  ought  to  take  care  of  her,  I  'd 
like  to  know,  if  it  is  n't  her  own  mother,  that 
belongs  to  her?  She  isn't  my  little  sister." 

Either  Helen  Bland  or  Annie  Tomlinson 
would  probably  have  seen  a  clear  way  out  of 
this  trouble.  They  would  simply  have  neglected 
to  return  to  the  house  until  the  dinner-hour 
drew  near.  But  I  am  happy  to  say  that  such  a 
means  of  escape  never  occurred  to  either  of 
these  dear  little  girls.  They  were  both  accus- 
tomed to  act  honestly  and  straightforwardly. 
Little  as  Hilda  wished  to  go  home  on  this  par- 


300  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

ticular  afternoon,  she  made  not  the  slightest  ef- 
fort to  lengthen  her  lesson  ;  it  was  over  in  very 
good  time. 

The  first  sound  which  they  heard  on  entering 
the  house  was  Margaret's  familiar  squeal.  She 
squealed  much  more  frequently  than  she  spoke, 
probably  because  squealing  answered  the  pur- 
pose better  than  words.  If  mamma  declined 
to  let  her  wear  her  favorite  apron,  or  insisted 
upon  washing  her  face,  this  accomplishment 
was  pressed  into  service.  Many  a  time  had  this 
effective  weapon  been  wielded  against  the  two 
little  cousins. 

Like  one  who  feels  that  there  is  no  escape 
from  misery,  and  determines  to  face  it  as  a  hero 
should,  Hilda  walked  straight  into  the  room 
whence  the  sound  proceeded.  Margaret  sat 
upon  the  hearth-rug,  surrounded  by  a  collection 
of  articles  which  were  all,  for  the  time,  to  be 
looked  upon  as  playthings — newspapers,  ribbons, 
brushes,  balls  of  yarn,  and  various  ornaments. 
At  either  hand  was  a  large  pincushion — one 
brought  from  her  mother's  bureau,  and  one  from 
Mrs.  Craig's.  It  was  so  cunning  of  her,  Mrs. 
Milman  thought,  to  insist  upon  having  two. 
Gilbertina  was  undergoing  the  process  of  dis- 
robing, and  the  pins,  as  they  were  one  by  one 
drawn  from  her  garments,  were  distributed  im- 
partially to  right  and  left. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  301 

"  O,  here  you  are !"  said  Mrs.  Milman  to 
Hilda.  "Now,  I'll  go  and  get  ready,  Grace. 
Margaret  must  n't  come  with  mamma  ;  she  must 
stay  where  she  is." 

Margaret  would  willingly  have  staid  had  it 
not  been  for  this  command,  which  she  regarded 
as  a  pressing  invitation  to  accompany  her 
mother.  Dropping  Gilbertina,  she  got  upon  her 
unsteady  little  legs,  fell  down  a  moment  later, 
and  had  to  be  consoled  with  a  stray  lime-drop, 
discovered  in  the  deep  of  Gertie's  pocket. 

"Now,"  said  Hilda,  established  in  her 
mother's  rocking-chair,  "we're  going  to  have 
the  horridest  kind  of  a  time  till  dinner,  so  it 's 
no  use  trying  to  do  anything.  Let 's  count  the 
ticks  of  the  clock." 

"I  think  I'll  get  my  work-basket,  if  you 
do  n't  care,"  Gertie  replied.  "  Maybe  I  can 
finish  the  handkerchief-case  for  Uncle  Edward. 
I  want  to  see  what  it  looks  like  when  it  is  fin- 
ished, do  n't  you?" 

"Yes;  and,  Gertie,  won't  you  tell  me  a 
story  ?  Please  do  ;  you  tell  such  splendid  ones." 

"  All  right."  Gertie  seldom  waited  to  be 
coaxed,  and  she  began  as  soon  as  she  had  put  her 
thimble  on.  "  In  a  deep,  deep  valley  stood  a 
beautiful  crystal  palace.  The  valley  was  full  of 
ice  all  the  year  round  ;  it  never  melted.  There 
was  n't  any  grass,  of  course,  nor  any  flowers ; 


302  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

but  the  trees  grew  straight  up  with  the  ice 
frozen  over  their  roots,  and  they  had  n't  any 
leaves — never." 

uEe-ee-ee-ee !"  floated  disapprovingly  up 
from  the  rug.  Gertie's  eyes  did  not  wander 
from  her  work,  but  Hilda  turned  her  head  and 
lifted  her  face  toward  the  ceiling. 

"Do  you  know,  Hilda,  I  dreamed  that  val- 
ley. O,  three  or  four  years  ago  it  was,  but  I 
never  forgot  it.  I  was  riding  along  in  a  sleigh, 
and  somebody  was  running  after,  and  trying  to 
climb  up  behind  to  set  fire  to  us.  We  went 
faster  and  faster,  but  he  got  up.  Just  as  he 
was  trying  to  strike  a  match,  the  sleigh  shook 
him  off  and  tipped  right  over,  miles  down  into 
the  valley.  The  Queen  of  the  Fairies  lived  there, 
and  all  the  fairies  got  around  us,  and  said  I  could 
have  a  wish  granted.  What  do  you  think  I 
wished  for?" 

"What?"  asked  the  listener,  breathlessly. 

"  Ice-cream."  And  they  both  laughed  out 
at  this  modest  wish. 

"That  was  a  nice  dream.  I  wish  I  could 
have  that  kind,"  said  Hilda,  enviously.  "  I 
never  dream  about  fairies,  hardly  at  all." 

"No,  it  wasn't  nice,"  objected  the  other. 
"  Why,  we  thought  we  were  going  to  be  burned 
up  in  the  sleigh,  and  then  we  s'posed  we  'd  get 
killed  tipping  down  off  the  road.  And  they 


A.  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  303 

brought  me  the  ice-cream  in  a  gilt  saucer,  but 
it  was  the  worst  I  ever  tasted.  All  the  fairies 
stood  around  with  wings  on  their  shoulders,  and 
said,  '  Is  n't  that  nice?  Is  n't  that  just  splendid 
ice-cream?'  And  it  made  me  sick  to  eat  it?" 

"  Ee-ee-ee !"  remarked  Margaret,  louder 
than  before. 

Gertie  fastened  her  gaze  upon  the  infant 
with  an  expression  of  stern  reproof. 

"Look  here,"  said  she,  "I  don't  like  little 
girls  that  behave  as  you  do;  I  do  n't  like  them 
at  all." 

The  round  baby  eyes  stared  at  her  a  moment 
in  astonishment.  Then  Margaret  put  her  hand 
on  Gilbertina's  face  to  push  herself  upward,  and 
approached  the  silent  Hilda. 

"  I  want  to  go  walking." 

She  could  speak  very  distinctly  for  a  child 
of  her  age.  Hilda  looked  helpless. 

"  No,  we  're  not  going,"  said  Gertie,  sternly. 

"I  want  to  go  walking,"  repeated  Margaret, 
beginning  to  cry. 

"  O,  I  '11  have  to  take  her,  Gertie  !  She  gets 
a  fever  when  she  cries.  Won't  you  come,  too, 
you  dear,  good,  darling  girl?  It's  just  awful  to 
go  with  her  alone." 

"Of  course  I'll  come,"  answered  Gertie, 
wrapping  her  work  in  tissue-paper  and  laying 
it  in  the  work-basket. 


304  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Margaret,  in  her  scarlet  cloak  and  bonnet, 
was  a  modern  representation  of  Red  Riding- 
hood,  and  looked  so  cunning  that  Hilda  kissed 
her,  notwithstanding  she  dreaded  the  walk. 
For  Margaret  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
was  willing  to  return.  She  would  sit  down  on 
some  doorstep,  where  the  wind  seemed  especially 
sharp,  and  refuse  to  rise  until  her  guardian,  wild 
with  anxiety,  lest  the  willful  mite  should  take 
cold  and  become  seriously  ill,  put  forth  all  her 
slender  strength  to  drag  her  away.  The  air  al- 
ways tingled  with  shrieks  after  such  ungentle 
treatment  was  applied,  but  the  trouble  generally 
ended  therewith.  Finding  the  rest  of  the  world 
so  cruel,  Margaret  hastened  to  the  arms  of  her 
mother. 

This  afternoon  she  turned  her  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  village  store.  She  had  been 
there  on  the  previous  Saturday  evening,  and 
again  this  very  forenoon.  She  knew  to  a  cer- 
tainty that  candy  could  be  bought  there. 

"I  haven't  any  money,"  said  Hilda,  when 
they  had  given  up  trying  to  influence  the  tyrant, 
and  sorrowfully  followed  her  along  the  side- 
walk. They  were  not  permitted  to  clasp  her 
hand. 

"  Well,  I  have,  and  I  '11  treat.  What  would 
you  like,  Hilda?  Cinnamon-drops?" 

"  No ;  Margaret   screams  at   them.     But   at 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  305 

any  rate  do  n't  let  her  have  any  stick-candy, 
Gertie.  She  likes  that  best ;  but  she  gets  so 
dauby  it  spoils  her  cloak." 

So  they  purchased  gum-drops  and  pepper- 
mint lozenges.  Margaret  plunged  her  hand 
into  the  paper-bag,  and  secured  as  many  sugar- 
plums as  her  small  fist  would  hold.  Then  she 
trotted  off  contentedly  enough,  and  they  had 
nothing  to  do  but  watch  her  steps.  Arrived  at 
the  gate  of  home,  another  conflict  of  will  oc- 
curred. Margaret  walked  unhesitatingly  on- 
ward. 

"  Here 's  the  place  to  go  in*  dear,"  said 
Hilda,  sweetly.  "  Come  in  and  get  the  great 
big  cloak  off;  then  you  can  have  a  nice  time 
eating  candy." 

"  No,"  replied  Margaret,  and  began  to  run 
in  her  tottering  fashion. 

Of  course  they  had  to  hurry  after  her. 

"  I  expect  your  mamma  has  come  home,  and 
wonders  where  you  are,"  insinuated  Hilda  ;  but 
Margaret's  speed  did  not  slacken. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Gertie,  philosophically; 
"we  thought  we  'd  have  a  horrid  time  anyhow, 
you  know,  and  we  might  as  well  have  it  here  as 
at  home." 

"O,  I'm  afraid  it's  getting  dark !"  and  Hilda 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  shadowing  sky. 

It  was  half-past  five ;  late  enough  for  a  De- 


306  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

cember  night  to  be  setting  in,  even  if  its  ap- 
proach had  not  been  hastened  by  clouds  which 
threatened  snow.  Hilda's  anxiety  grew  every 
minute.  Her  natural  timidity  was  increased 
by  a  sense  of  responsibility ;  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  the  baby,  she  would  have  to  bear  the 
blame.  Margaret  trotted  steadily  on,  serene  so 
long  as  she  was  neither  spoken  to  nor  touched. 

"  We  had   better  go  back,"  Gertie  admitted. 

"Come,  Margaret,"  said  Hilda,  firmly  grasp- 
ing the  arm  under  the  scarlet  cloak,  "  we  must 
go  home  this  very  minute." 

"  Ee-ee-e£-ee  !"  vehemently  protested  Mar- 
garet, struggling  to  tear  herself  away.  Despair 
made  Hilda  hold  on  in  spite  of  that  terrifying 
noise ;  but  when  a  prolonged  howl  ensued,  rap- 
idly turning  the  baby's  face  purple,  she  loosened 
her  clutch  in  alarm.  Margaret  immediately 
dropped  upon  a  stone,  and  wept  a  storm  of 
tears. 

"  O,  stop  that!  O,  do  stop,  darling!"  im- 
plored Hilda,  so  nervous  that  she  hardly  knew 
what  she  said.  "  Do  something,  Gertie.  What 
can  we  do?" 

"Give  her  some  more  candy,"  was  the 
prompt  reply.  "  Here,  Margaret,  look  what 
Gertie  's  got." 

This  had  the  effect  of  stopping  the  tears, 
and  Margaret  devoured  gum-drops  with  aston- 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  307 

ishing  speed.  But  she  would  not  leave  her  seat. 
She  shook  her  head  at  every  entreaty,  and 
screamed  at  every  touch. 

"  Will  you  go  if  I  tell  you  a  story  ?"  Gertie 
suggested.  "All  about  little  Red  Riding-hood, 
and  how  the  wolf  did  n't  eat  her  up?" 

"  Hear  the  story  now,"  said  Margaret,  gra- 
ciously. 

"No,  indeed;  I  won't  tell  it  unless  we  are 
walking  home  just  as  fast  as  ever  we  can.  Will 
you  come  now,  and  hear  about  the  ugly  wolf 
with  the  sharp,  sharp  teeth  ?" 

"  Ee-ee-ee-ee  !"  was  the  only  response. 

I  can  not  tell  how  it  would  have  ended  if 
an  amateur  street  orchestra  had  not  just  then 
become  audible.  The  sound  of  a  drum  and  two 
tin  trumpets,  coming  around  a  bend  of  the  road, 
flashed  a  thought  into  Gertie's  mind.  She 
caught  the  obstinate  child  by  the  hand  and 
drew  her  up,  so  suddenly  that  surprise  would 
not  let  her  scream. 

"O,  Margaret,  run,  run!"  cried  Gertie,  in 
pretended  fear.  "  What  is  that  coming  along 
behind  us?  O,  what  is  it?  Run,  Hilda?  Let 
us  all  hurry,  quick,  quick,  before  it  catches  us!" 

Margaret  took  fright  at  once,  and  ran  as  fast 
as  her  legs  would  carry  her.  Delighted  with 
the  success  of  Gertie's  stratagem,  Hilda  seized 
her  other  hand,  and  all  three  sped  breathlessly 


308  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

over  the  homeward  way.  The  house  looked 
very  brilliant  to  their  approaching  eyes.  Lights 
were  shining  up-stairs  and  down,  and  a  tall, 
dark  figure  stood  in  the  doorway,  straining 
troubled  eyes  to  see  through  the  thickening 
gloom. 

"  Hilda !"  sternly  exclaimed  her  father's 
voice,  "what  do  yon  mean  by  staying  out  so 
late?  Your  mother  has  been  very  much  fright- 
ened." 

"  O,  papa,  I'm  ever  so  sorry!  Indeed  I 
could  n't  help  it !"  was  all  poor  Hilda  could 
reply,  before  she  stepped  out  of  Mrs.  Milman's 
way.  That  agitated  woman  was  rushing  toward 
Margaret  without  seeming  to  care  whom  she 
knocked  down. 

There  had  been  much  excitement  in  the 
house  when  the  ladies  returned  at  dusk  and 
found  the  children  still  absent.  Mr.  Craig  came 
in  soon  after,  and  was  just  starting  out  to  search 
for  them,  when  he  saw  them  enter  the  gate. 
Hilda's  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  reproof, 
which  she  felt  to  be  undeserved,  and  Gertie  pre- 
pared herself  to  explain  the  whole  affair,  clear 
the  innocent,  and  bring  scorn  upon  the  guilty. 
If  she  had  carried  out  her  intention  she  would 
have  made  an  enemy  of  Margaret's  mother  ;  but 
she  never  did  so.  A  glance  from  Mrs.  Craig's 
quiet  eyes  changed  her  husband's  view  of  Hilda's 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  309 

conduct,  and  her  loving  arms  encircled  her  little 
daughter,  holding  her  away  from  the  angry 
thoughts  beginning  to  attack  her  wounded  spirit. 
After  that  Hilda  could  bear  Mrs.  Milman's  com- 
plaints. 

At  the  dinner-table,  Margaret  was  cross;  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes  heavy.  Her 
mother  had  not  the  least  doubt  that  she  was 
going  to  be  ill. 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  good  doctor  in  the  vil- 
lage," said  she.  u  What  should  I  do  if  she 
should  grow  worse  in  the  night?" 

"  I  hope  that  you  have  no  cause  for  uneasi- 
ness," said  Mrs.  Craig.  "A  night's  rest  will 
probably  make  her  well  again." 

"Ah,  she  is  very  delicate  !  What  did  you  do 
to  her,  you  children  ?  What  did  you  give  her 
to  eat?" 

"  Some  candy,"  Hilda  answered,  briefly. 

"  Much  ?  I  hope  you  did  n't  give  her  very 
much!" 

"Well,  I  guess  she  had  a  good  deal,"  con- 
fessed Gertie.  "She  snatched  the  bag  out  of 
my  hand,  and  would  n't  give  it  back.  I  only 
had  three  pieces,  and  I  do  n't  believe  Hilda  had 
many.  Did  you  ?" 

"  Two,"  replied  her  cousin. 

Mr.  Craig  smiled  into  his  coffee-cup,  and 
Mrs.  Milman  looked  offended ;  but  the  children 


310  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

had  not  meant  to  give  either  offense  or  amuse- 
ment. They  had  made  a  plain  and  simple  state- 
ment. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  Grace,  I  will  take 
her  to  my  room,"  said  the  visitor,  rising.  "Per- 
haps I  may  get  her  to  sleep,  but  I  doubt  it ;  she 
is  always  wakeful  when  she  is  n't  well." 

Margaret  did  not  appear  again  that  evening, 
and  for  some  time  Mrs.  Milman  remained  with 
her.  Twice  she  sent  down  a  request  that  the 
children  should  be  as  quiet  as  possible,  once 
suggesting  that  the  boys  had  better  put  on  their 
slippers.  Fred  and  Annie  Tomlinson  came  in, 
and  had  to  be  quietly  entertained  in  a  corner 
of  the  library.  They  were  tired  of  dominoes 
and  Messenger-boy  and  the  other  games  which 
had  been  played  so  often.  Gertie  told  a  story, 
and  was  unanimously  requested  to  tell  another; 
but  Hilda  was  afraid  to  let  her  try  it,  because 
the  boys  laughed  so  loudly  at  the  funny  parts. 
So  they  began  to  talk  about  the  approaching 
school-entertainment. 

"Fred's  going  to  speak  a  piece;  did  you 
know  that  ?"  asked  his  sister,  proudly. 

"What  is  it?     Say  it,  Fred." 

"No,  I  won't,"  returned  Fred,  in  an  easy 
way,  which  seemed  to  rob  this  blunt  refusal  of 
its  rudeness.  "'T  is  n't  worth  listening  to — 
just  a  soft  thing;  it's  poetry." 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  311 

"Say,  Hilda,  did  n't  Mr.  Peterson  want  you 
to  say  a  speech  about  Gilbertina?" 

"He  said  a  doll,"  returned  Hilda,  flushing, 
"and  hold  a  doll  in  my  arms.  That  was  all." 

"Where's  Gilbertina?"  demanded  Fred,  his 
sharp,  black  eyes  searching  the  corners  of  the 
room. 

"She  's  up-stairs,"  Hilda  answered, hurriedly. 
"We  put  her  away  because  that  little  girl  that's 
here  handles  her  too  much." 

"Say,  Ernest,"  cried  Fred,  sitting  upright — 
he  had  been  lolling  over  the  sofa-cushion — "  let's 
throw  bouquets  to  Gilbertina  that  night.  She  's 
the  star  actress ;  going  to  make  her  first  ap- 
pearance, and  ought  to  have  a  flattering  recep- 
tion." 

"No,  you  mustn't!"  Hilda  protested. 

It  was  so  easy  to  annoy  her  with  teasing, 
that  Fred  found  especial  pleasure  in  selecting 
her  for  his  victim. 

"  Cabbages  and  turnips,  tied  together  with 
green  ribbons ;  that 's  the  stuff,  is  n't  it,  Er- 
nest?" 

"Now  you're  talking!"  replied  the  latter, 
approvingly.  "  Green  's  the  color  for  a  green- 
horn." 

And  the  two  boys  laughed  as  if  their  silly 
and  slangy  speeches  had  been  full  of  wit. 

"  If  you  do,   I   just  won't   stand  it !"  Hilda 


312  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

broke  out  excitedly.  Of  course  she  was  taunt- 
ingly requested  to  inform  them  how  she  was  go- 
ing to  help  it ;  but  before  she  could  reply,  Mrs. 
Milman  came  into  the  room,  closing  the  door 
softly  behind  her. 

"  Hilda,"  she  began,  "  are  you  willing  to 
trust  Gilbertina  to  Margaret?  I  would  n't  ask 
you  if  it  was  n't  that  the  poor  little  thing  is 
restless,  and  begs  for  it  so  hard." 

"  O,  yes  'in  !"  answered  Hilda,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  so  glad  of  the  interruption 
that  she  felt  really  grateful.  "She's  up  in 
Blanche's  room,  Mrs.  Milman.  I  '11  get  her  in 
just  a  minute." 

"  Hilda  is  perfectly  lovely  about  that  doll," 
observed  Blanche,  who  seldom  paid  a  compli- 
ment. "I  can't  help  being  a  little  surprised. 
She  is  so  careful  of  her  things,  that  sometimes 
she  really  is  selfish." 

"  It  is  easy  to  be  kind  to  Margaret,"  sighed 
Margaret's  mother. 

Blanche  bit  her  lip  and  made  no  reply.  She 
knew  that  Hilda  had  found  it  far  from  easy. 

Up  in  Blanche's  room  all  was  dim  and  quiet. 
The  shutters  were  open,  and  the  moon  cast  a 
faint,  frequently  cloud-veiled  radiance  through 
the  window. 

Gilbertina  sat  on  the  bureau,  leaning  against 
the  mirror.  She  seemed  to  have  grown  less 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  313 

careful  of  her  appearance  in  the  last  few  days ; 
but  it  was  not  her  fault  that  her  costume  was 
tumbled  and  her  hair  in  disorder.  Hilda  viewed 
her  sorrowfully  for  a  few  moments,  then  caught 
her  by  the  head  and  lifted  her  up.  Think  of 
Hilda  catching  Gilbertina  by  the  head  !  She 
did  it  very  carefully,  to  be  sure,  but  not  ten- 
derly. At  that  moment  she  did  not  love  her 
doll  in  the  least.  All  her  mind  was  disturbed 
by  Fred's  threat.  Must  she  be  publicly  morti- 
fied because  of  that  unfortunate  name?  What 
could  she  do  to  avert  the  disgrace  ? 

"  Maybe  I  '11  get  sick  before  then,"  thought 
she,  slowly  descending  the  staircase.  "  Would 
I  like  that?  It  would  be  horrid  to  miss  all  the 
fun;  but  if  I  have  to  take  Gilbertina  there  won't 
be  any  fun,"  and  she  actually  shook  the  inno- 
cent cause  of  her  trouble. 

Mrs.  Milman  took  the  doll  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  a  magazine. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  absently. 

"  Do  n't  stay  up-stairs  all  evening,"  said  Mrs. 
Craig.  "When  Margaret  goes  to  sleep  you  may 
venture  to  leave  her." 

"  If  she  goes  to  sleep  I  will.  I  do  want  to 
have  a  talk  with  you,  since  I  have  to  leave  to- 
morrow afternoon,"  replied  Mrs.  Milman,  gazing 
discontentedly  at  the  group  of  children  beside 


314  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

the  window.  They  were  just  as  silent  and 
motionless  at  that  moment  as  the  most  exacting 
woman  could  have  demanded.  Fred  happened 
to  be  looking  into  her  face,  and  read  there  un- 
mistakably the  opinion  that  he  had  better  be  at 
home.  This  was  doubtless  the  reason  why  he 
attempted,  a  moment  later,  to  pick  Archer's 
pocket  of  his  silver  watch. 

"  Hello  there  !  What  are  you  doing  ?"  cried 
Archer,  indignantly,  so  loudly  that  his  mother 
had  to  say,  "  Be  careful,  dear." 

"Guess  it's  time  to  go  home,"  remarked 
Fred,  a  little  embarrassed.  "  Come  on,  Annie. 
Where  did  somebody  put  my  hat?" 

"  O,  you  don't  want  to  go  !" 

But  Ernest  did  not  speak  very  heartily.  He 
found  it  rather  tiresome  to  have  company,  since 
he  was  obliged  to  keep  so  still. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  too.  That 's  all  you  know 
about  it." 

« 

There  was  a  very  short  leave-taking,  because 
it  was  too  cold  to  stand  in  the  doorway.  The 
boys  returned  to  the  library  at  once,  but  the 
girls  waited  to  look  inquiringly  at  each  other. 

"  Let 's  go  to  bed,"  suggested  Hilda. 

Gertie  was  a  little  surprised. 

"Why,"  said  she,  "is  it  late  enough?" 

At  that  very  moment  the  clock  began  to 
strike  eight. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  315 

"  It 's  late  enough  if  we  want  to  go,"  re- 
turned Hilda,  peevishly.  "  I  'in  tired,  and  I  'm 
going.  You  need  n't  if  you  do  n't  want  to,  but 
I  think  you  might." 

"  All  right;  I  will,"  said  the  obliging  Gertie. 

Everybody  was  surprised  that  they  should 
retire  so  early,  and  Mrs.  Craig  looked  at  her 
daughter  anxiously.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  ill, 
but  tired  and  discontented.  To  be  sure  there 
was  reason  enough  why  Hilda  should  be  tired. 
Days  spent  in  Margaret's  company  were  fatiguing. 

"Good-night,  darling,"  said  the  mother. 
"You  have  had  too  much  to  do  to-day.  To- 
morrow will  be  better,  I  hope." 

Hilda's  spirits  rose  at  once,  but  they  fell 
again  a  moment  later ;  because,  when  she  was 
half-way  up  the  stairs,  Rose  opened  the  dining- 
room  door  and  called  eagerly,  "  O,  Gertie,  come 
here."  She  did  not  say,  "  Hilda,  come  too,"  and 
Hilda  was  tired  enough  to  be  foolishly  sensitive, 
and  fancy  herself  slighted.  Gertie  ran  down  at 
once,  and  the  door  closed  behind  her.  No  one 
meant  to  hurt  Hilda's  feelings;  indeed  any- 
body who  called  one  of  these  inseparable  com- 
panions, expected  them  to  answer  the  summons 
together. 

But  Hilda  was  not  going  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort.  If  Rose  meant  her  to  come,  she  ought 
to  have  said  so.  With  angry  tears  in  her  eyes 


316  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

she  went  on  to  the  top  of  the  stairs.     There  she 
paused  with  her  hand  on  the  balustrade. 

Why  did  n't  Gertie  come  ?  O,  how  mean  of 
her  to  have  secrets  with  somebody  else,  and  not 
tell  her  own  cousin  !  To  make  matters  worse, 
Gertie's  silvery  laugh  floated  merrily  through 
a  crack  in  the  door,  and  up  to  the  jealous  little 
ears. 

Gertie  was  laughing  at  Quillup.  It  was  to 
see  him  that  Rose  had  called  her.  One  of  the 
boys  had  been  looking  out  a  word  in  the  diction- 
ary, when  Fred  Tomlinson  rang  the  bell,  and 
had  left  the  book  open  upon  the  table.  There 
Mr.  Quillup  had  found  it,  and  concluded  that  it 
would  make  an  excellent  bed.  He  was  stretched 
at  ease  upon  the  printed  cushion,  his  amber 
eyes  blinking  a  drowsy  recognition  of  his  little 
mistress. 

"Maybe  his  bed  down  cellar  isn't  soft 
enough,"  said  Gertie.  "  It  is  only  a  piece  of 
carpet  in  a  box.  Is  there  anything  else  that  I 
could  put  there,  Rose  ?" 

"There's  a  little  old  rug  you  might  have," 
Rose  answered,  and,  good-natured  girl  that  she 
was,  went  at  once  to  get  it. 

They  went  down  into  the  cellar,  Gertie 
carrying  the  kitten,  and  Rose  the  rug  and  can- 
dle. It  did  not  take  long  to  make  a  bed  which  no 
cat  could  with  reason  despise  ;  but  they  lingered 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  317 

a  few  minutes  to  stroke  his  fur,  and  watch  him 
settle  into  a  comfortable  position.  They  were 
just  emerging  into  the  brightly-lighted  dining- 
room  when  they  heard  a  loud  scream.  It  was 
Margaret's  voice  (there  was  no  mistaking  that), 
but  it  frightened  them  to  hear  an  answering 
scream  from  her  mother.  There  was  a  sound 
of  hurrying  up-stairs,  and,  of  course,  they  ran 
as  fast  as  possible  to  see  what  could  be  the 
matter. 

Margaret  had  fallen  asleep  almost  as  soon  as 
Gilbertina  was  laid  in  her  arms,  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
man  had  left  her.  The  library  was  immediately 
under  her  room,  and  she  knew  that  she  could 
hear  the  child  if  she  stirred.  Margaret  fretted 
a  little,  but  in  a  drowsy  way  ;  the  ladies  listen- 
ing anxiously  down-stairs,  thought  that  if  left 
alone  she  would  soon  be  quiet  again.  But  just 
as  they  were  congratulating  themselves  that  her 
slumbers  were  sounder,  there  came  a  great 
thump  on  the  floor,  and  a  piercing  scream  an- 
nounced that  it  was  Margaret  who  had  fallen. 

u  O,  my  baby  !"  Mrs.  Milman  cried,  in  a  voice 
as  shrill  as  her  daughter's. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  scarcely  less  frightened,  and 
when  Archer  and  Ernest  saw  them  both  hurry- 
ing out  of  the  room,  they  ran  excitedly  after. 
It  was  a  throng  which  rushed  into  Mrs.  Milman's 
room,  for  Rose  and  Gertie  were  there  almost  as 


31 8  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

soon  as  the  others.  None  of  Margaret's  bones 
were  broken,  that  was  certain ;  for  she  had 
climbed  into  a  rocking-chair,  and  was  beating 
time  to  her  outcries  with  all  four  of  her  limbs. 
The  unexpected  entrance  of  such  a  multitude 
insulted  her  deeply.  She  testified  her  sense  of 
injury  in  a  manner  so  unmistakable  that  Mrs. 
Craig  sent  the  children  away  at  once,  and  only 
lingered  to  ask  whether  she  could  be  of  any  as- 
sistance. 

"  O  no,  thank  you,"  Mrs.  Milman  replied. 
"I  don't  think  she  struck  her  head;  there 
does  n't  seem  to  be  any  bump.  I  won't  leave 
her  alone  any  more.  Good-night.  Please  let 
Rose  bring  up  a  pitcher  of  drinking-water,  and — 
O,  suppose  you  take  the  doll  with  you." 

But  where  was  the  doll  ?  No  trace  of  Gil- 
bertina  could  be  found,  either  on  the  bed  or  un- 
der the  furniture.  This  surprised  Mrs.  Milman 
so  much  that  she  laid  Margaret  on  the  bed 
while  she  helped  her  friend  to  make  a  thorough 
search. 

"Why,  nobody  can  have  taken  it!"  she  ex- 
claimed, looking  very  much  puzzled  and  a  little 
alarmed.  "  Nobody  was  in  the  room.  I  was  not 
out  of  it  more  than  ten  minutes,  was  I?" 

"  But  who  could  have  taken  it,  anyhow  ?" 
Mrs.  Craig  wondered.  "  There  was  no  one  in 
the  house  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  one  could 


A  MYSTERIOUS  THEFT.  319 

hardly   imagine  a  burglar   breaking  through   a 
window  only  to  steal  a  doll." 

"Are  you  sure  that  cook  of  yours  is  honest?" 
suggested  Mrs.  Milman  ;  for  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  must  find  a  way  of  unraveling  the  mys- 
tery. "  I  met  her  on  the  stairs  as  I  was  going 
down.  She  has  such  a  queer,  soft  way  of  steal- 
ing about  the  house,  and  I  've  noticed  that  she 
always  drops  her  eyes  when  you  look  at  her." 


THE   CURRANT-BUSHES. 

WHERE  was  Gilbertina?  At  the  farthest 
end  of  the  orchard  grew  a  line  of  currant- 
bushes,  behind  which  the  ground  sloped  ab- 
ruptly to  the  fence  ;  and  down  by  the  fence, 
sunk  among  brown,  dead  leaves,  lay  the  unfor- 
tunate doll. 

The  moon  glanced  out  from  the  clouds  which 
its  own  radiance  had  silvered,  and  sent  down  a 
swift-gliding  beam  to  discover  what  that  bit  of 
white  behind  the  bushes  could  be.  It  was 
only  the  corner  of  a  newspaper,  on  the  edge 
of  which  the  least  bit  of  scarlet  could  be  dis- 
cerned. The  moonbeam  was  not  strong  enough 
to  lift  the  paper  or  brush  aside  the  heap  of 
leaves,  so  the  mystery  remained  unexplained. 

In  all  the  house  that  evening  there  was  only 
one  person  who  could  explain  it.  That  one  was 
a  little  girl  who,  with  hot,  red  cheeks  and  trem- 

320 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  321 

ulous  fingers,  was  hurriedly  unbuttoning  her 
shoes  in  Blanche's  room. 

When  Hilda,  waiting  in  the  dim  light  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  heard  Gertie's  merry  laugh, 
she  let  herself  drop  down  upon  the  floor,  a  bright- 
colored  heap  of  misery.  It  was  so  dreadful  to 
be  all  alone  up  there  when  something  funny 
was  happening  in  the  dining-room.  What  made 
it  worse  was  that  she  need  not  have  been  alone. 
If  it  were  to  do  over  again,  she  would  make 
haste  to  follow  Gertie  when  she  answered  Rose's 
call.  But  of  course  that  was  impossible  now  ; 
pride  would  not  let  her  stir. 

Then  she  began  to  feel  very  angry  at  Fred 
Tomlinson.  If  he  had  not  teased  her  so  much, 
she  would  not  have  wanted  to  hurry  off  to  bed 
without  talking  to  any  one.  How  long  was  she 
to  be  worried  about  Gilbertina's  name  ? 

"  I  just  can't  stand  it  any  longer,"  murmured 
Hilda,  with  a  sick  little  sigh. 

Some  one  came  noiselessly  along  the  hall 
and  began  to  ascend  the  stairs.  It  was  Emma, 
with  a  pile  of  freshly-ironed  clothes  upon'  her 
arm.  It  would  not  do  for  Hilda  to  be  discov- 
ered crouching  there  in  the  dark.  She  slipped 
softly  into  the  shelter  of  a  doorway,  to  wait 
until  the  girl  had  gone  past. 

Just  then  it  was  that  Mrs.  Milman,  having 
seen  Margaret's  peacefully-closed  eyes  and  list- 


322  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

ened  to  her  quiet  breathing,  decided  to  go  down 
to  the  library.  She  met  Emma  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  and  paused  slightly  as  the  girl  squeezed 
herself  against  the  wall  to  give  her  plenty  of 
room  to  pass.  Emma  stood  in  awe  of  Mrs.  Mil- 
man,  who  had  such  a  domineering  manner  and 
required  so  many  small  services. 

When  the  library  door  had  closed,  and  Emma 
had  disappeared  on  the  stairway  .which  led  to 
the  third  story,  Hilda  came  out  from  the  shadow 
into  the  dim  twilight  of  the  hall-lamp.  The 
little  shock  of  escape  seemed  to  have  sharpened 
her  mind.  Something  had  suggested  a  new 
thought  which  had  taken  strong  hold  upon  her 
will. 

Margaret  must  be  asleep  or  her  mother  would 
not  have  left  her  alone,  and  it  was  equally  cer- 
tain that  the  doll  was  still  with  her. 

"If  I  should  go  in  there  and  take  Gilbertina 
away,  nobody  would  ever  know  who  did  it," 
thought  Hilda.  "  They  think  I  've  gone  to  bed." 

She  pressed  her  hand  tightly  against  her 
heart ;  it  was  beating  so  that  it  shook  her,  and 
she  was  trying  to  hold  it  still. 

She  would  take  Gilbertina  away.  But  what 
would  she  do  with  her?  O,  she  did  not  know! 
She  would  hide  her  away  somewhere ;  maybe 
in  a  bureau  drawer,  or  in  the  box  with  her  new 
hat.  There  were  some  old  trunks  up-stairs  that 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  323 

people  did  not  often  look  into,  and  some  piece- 
bags,  crowded  with  scraps  of  silk  and  wool.  O, 
there  were  a  great  many  excellent  hiding-places, 
more  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  of  before !  How 
easy  it  was  to  think ! 

One  thing  was  certain — Gilbertina  must  be 
put  out  of  sight.  Now  was  the  opportunity  to 
do  it,  and  now  she  felt,  more  strongly  than  at 
any  previous  time,  that  it  was  not  possible  to 
bear  the  worry  and  mortification  which  the  doll 
occasioned.  Does  it  seem  strange  to  yon  that 
Hilda  should  have  become  so  resolute  in  a  few 
moments  of  time?  To  me  it  does  not  seem 
strange  at  all.  She  had  been  fretting  so  long  in 
secret,  hating  the  name  of  the  doll  until  she  al- 
most hated  the  doll  itself;  admitting  wicked 
feelings  to  her  heart,  anger  against  her  play- 
mates, and  a  foolish  sense  of  injury.  All  this 
time  she  had  seemed  as  sweet  and  gentle  as 
ever,  but  the  poison  was  working  within  her. 
It  is  a  sad  thing  to  admit,  but  the  truth  is  that 
Hilda  was  not  as  pure  and  innocent  as  she  had 
been  a  few  months  before,  when  she  was  not  bury- 
ing a  secret  away  from  her  own  mother's  sight. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  see  anything  wrong  in  her 
behavior,  because  she  had  uttered  no  falsehood. 
Truth  is  white ;  it  is  neither  cream-color  nor 
pearl-color.  If  you  let  the  faintest  tint  mix 
with  its  glorious  brightness,  the  color  may  at 


324  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

first  be  scarcely  perceptible,  but  it  will  deepen 
and  darken  until  it  is  lost  in  the  blackness  of 
deceit. 

Close  to  the  wall,  her  hand  pressed  against 
it  to  steady  her  steps,  Hilda  tiptoed  along  to  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Milman's  room.  There  she  paused 
and  looked  in.  The  fire  blazed  high,  and  she 
saw  everything  at  a  glance.  Margaret  lay  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  her  lips  still  pouting  in  her 
uneasy  slumber,  and  Gilbertina's  head  rested  on 
the  pillow,  close  beside  her  own.  One  arm  lay 
heavily  over  the  doll's  body,  and  the  thin 
fingers  were  clasped  about  a  bit  of  the  bright- 
red  frock. 

"  It  is  n't  stealing  to  take  your  own  doll 
away." 

Why  did  these  words  repeat  themselves  in 
the  excited  little  brain  ?  Was  it  because  Hilda 
felt  like  a  thief,  and  was  trying  to  defend  herself 
from  her  own  conscience  ? 

Gently  she  unbent  the  child's  clinging  fingers 
and  lifted  her  arm  aside.  Margaret's  sleep  was 
not  very  sound  ;  the  touch  disturbed  her  ;  she 
moaned  impatiently  and  half  unclosed  her  eyes. 
With  the  doll  in  her  arms  Hilda  fled  into  the 
hall,  and  softly  on  to  her  own  room. 

All  her  quick  thoughts  had'  deserted  her. 
Gilbertina  could  not  remain  in  her  arms,  and 
where  should  she  go?  None  of  the  places 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  325 

which  had  seemed  so  suitable  for  her  purpose 
would  answer  at  all.  The  hat-box  would  not 
hold  her,  and  there  was  no  room  in  the  bureau 
drawers.  It  was  the  veriest  nonsense  to  dream 
of  stuffing  her  head-first  into  a  crowded  piece- 
bag,  and  what  would  her  mother  think  if  some 
day  she  went  to  one  of  her  trunks  and  found 
Gilbertina  there  ? 

O,  what  should  she  do  !  Gertie  would  be 
coming  up  in  a  minute.  There  was  no  place 
for  Gilbertina  in  the  house  ;  might  there  possibly 
be  a  place  out-of-doors  ?  She  went  to  a  window, 
and  the  solemn  shadow  of"  the  night  filled  her 
with  dread.  There  were  gray  and  pearly  clouds 
over  the  sky ;  only  one  luminous  spot  showed 
the  trailing  of  the  moon's  silver  robe. 

"  I  could  n't  hide  her  in  a  tree,"  said  Hilda, 
rapidly.  "Could  I  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground? 

0  no,  there  is  n't  anything  to  dig  with,  except 

1  get  a  kitchen-knife,  and  Emma  would  see,  or 
Rose  perhaps,  and  Rose  would  ask  what  I  wanted 
it  for." 

Hark,  what  was  that  ?  It  was  Margaret 
screaming.  O,  was  Margaret  killed  !  Her  mother 
was  screaming  too,  and  crowds  of  people 
were  rushing  up-stairs.  Surely  there  were  not 
enough  people  in  the  house  to  make  such  a 
tramp  of  feet ;  the  neighbors  must  be  coming 
in,  and  maybe  a  policeman  too,  "  Well,  I  can 


326  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

get  down  the  back  stairs,"  thought  Hilda,  cun- 
ning again  in  a  moment,  and  away  she  went. 

She  could  not  have  told  what  she  feared.  Of 
course  she  knew  that,  guilty  as  she  felt,  there 
was  no  danger  of  being  marched  away  to  jail. 
She  could  not  be  responsible  for  Margaret's 
hurt  (if  hurt  there  were),  for  she  had  touched 
her  only  in  the  tenderest  manner,  and  left  her 
lying  upon  the  bed.  But  Hilda  was  so  nervous, 
and  so  conscious  of  wrong-doing,  that  it  did  not 
take  much  to  alarm  her.  As  she  neared  the 
bottom  of  the  steep,  walled-in  staircase,  her  foot 
caught  in  the  carpet.  She  clutched  at  the  rail, 
but  missed  it,  rolled  down  the  two  or  three  re- 
maining steps,  and  heard  a  sharp,  snapping 
noise. 

"  Gilbertina  's  spoiled!"  groaned  Hilda,  sit- 
ting up  and  dragging  the  poor  doll  from  beneath 
her  knee.  It  was  too  dark  there  to  see  what 
the  injury  was  ;  she  cautiously  pushed  open  the 
kitchen  door  and  entered.  Her  hand  had  already 
found  a  rough  spot  on  the  smooth  face,  and  the 
lamplight  showed  her  what  it  meant.  Gilber- 
tina's  nose  was  gone ;  her  beauty  was  marred 
forever. 

It  would  not  do  to  give  way  to  sorrow  here. 
The  bolt  was  drawn  aside,  and  she  slipped  out 
into  the  night,  too  unhappy  now  to  feel  afraid. 
Besides,  the  moon  had  pushed  its  way  through 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  327 

the  clouds,  and  made  everything  too  lovely  for 
fear.  She  went  slowly  down  among  the  trees, 
shaking  with  sobs,  and  covering  Gilbertina's 
face  with  tears  and  kisses.  Poor  doll !  Poor  dar- 
ling! Precious  Gilbertina  !  Was  this  the  end  of 
her?  The  handsomest  doll  in  Hawthorn — very 
likely  the  handsomest  doll  this  side  of  New 
York — to  be  suddenly  made  ugly  by  the  break- 
ing off  of  her  nose!  There  was  no  doubt  now 
that  Hilda  loved  her.  She  would  have  given 
all  the  money  she  had  saved  for  Christmas  to 
have  that  sweet  face  whole  again. 

Presently  she  remembered  that  it  did  not 
matter  what  happened  to  Gilbertina,  since  she 
had  fully  made  up  her  mind  to  part  with  her.  How 
very  bare  the  orchard  looked  !  There  seemed 
to  be  no  place  where  anything  could  be  con- 
cealed. 

She  was  near  the  back  fence  now,  and  the 
line  of  currant-bushes  caught  her  eye.  When 
she  had  stopped  beside  them  and  peered  through 
their  frail,  brown  branches,  she  decided  that  she 
would  leave- Gilbertina  there;  the  leaves  could 
be  heaped  upon  her,  and  an  old  newspaper, 
which  the  wind  had  blown  over  the  fence,  might 
be  wrapped  around  her  dress  and  curls.  It  was 
all  done  in  a  few  minutes.  The  shaking  little 
figure  pressed  through  the  prickly  bushes,  and 
hastily  scraped  a  nest  in  the  mass  of  wet  leaves. 


328  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

The  paper  was  wrapped  tightly  about  the  doll, 
and  twisted  at  the  ends  to  hold  it  together. 
Then  the  bundle  which  was  Gilbertina  was 
crushed  into  the  hole,  and  the  leaves  brushed 
hurriedly  over  it. 

Now  that  it  was  done,  Hilda  was  both  cold 
and  afraid,  and  it  seemed  as  if  nothing  bad 
could  happen  were  she  once  more  in  the  safe, 
warm  house.  As  she  softly  stole  through  the 
kitchen,  she  heard  voices  in  the  dining-room. 
Gertie  was  there,  and  Archer  and  Rose  ;  they 
were  talking  eagerly,  as  if  something  very 
strange  had  happened.  Well,  she  did  n't  care 
what  it  was  ;  she  felt  too  tired  and  cold.  Ger- 
tie might  stay  down  and  talk  all  night,  if  she 
wanted  to ;  Hilda  wished  she  would.  It  would 
be  so  nice  to  go  to  sleep  without  saying  a  word 
to  anybody,  or  even  looking  into  anybody's  face. 

This  is  what  was  going  on  in  the  dining- 
room  : 

"  Has  Gilbertina  really  gone  ?"  cried  Gertie, 
catching  the  arm  of  Archer,  who  had  brought 
the  news.  "  Why,  how  could  she  ?  Who  took 
her  away  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know;  but  she  is  gone,  that 's  cer- 
tain ;  for  mamma  said  so.  Mamma  came  down 
into  the  library,  and  papa  had  just  come  in,  and 
they  both  think  it's  one  of  the  queerest  things 
that  ever  happened,  $Q  it  is  queer!  They've 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  329 

looked  all  through  the  room,  and  nothing's 
touched  ;  but  Gilbertina  isn't  there,  and  nobody 
in  the  room  but  Margaret." 

"  Maybe  Margaret  pitched  her  out  of  the 
window,"  suggested  Gertie,  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Why,  the  window  's  locked,  Gertie,  and  the 
shutters  are  shut.  Such  a  baby  could  n't  open 
them." 

"  I  just  think  we  ought  to  have  a  gun  in 
this  house,"  put  in  Ernest,  with  an  aggrieved 
look.  "  How  are  we  going  to  keep  thieves  away 
when  we  have  n't  even  a  pistol  ?  I  wish  Uncle 
Gilbert  would  come  home.  He  has  a  revolver." 

"  O,  that  poor  Hilda!"  exclaimed  Gertie. 
"  She  's  gone  to  bed  just  as  happy,  and  never 
knew  what  was  becoming  of  her  darling  doll! 
Is  n't  it  dreadful,  Rose  ?" 

Rose  thought  it  was.  She  felt  very  badly 
when  anything  disagreeable  happened  to  the 
children.  The  boys  also  looked  quite  heart- 
broken for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Thieves  are  getting  terrible  !"  said  Ernest's 
excited  tones.  "They  broke  into  Percy  Mer- 
rill's house  week  before  last,  but  the  baby  woke 
up  and  screamed  them  away.  They  did  n't  get 
anything  but  Jim  Merrill's  collar-button  ;  and 
that  is  n't  good  gold,  Percy  says." 

"And  here  they  did  n't  get  anything  but  a 
doll.  Pretty  slow  getting  rich,  at  that  rate.  If 


330  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

I  were  a  thief,  I  'd  go  into  some  other  busi- 
ness," remarked  Archer,  winking  at  Gertie,  to 
make  her  laugh. 

Mrs.  Craig  came  in  just  then. 

"  It  is  growing  late,  my  dears,"  she  said, 
"and  I  would  like  the  house  to  be  quiet  as  soon 
as  possible.  Every  little  noise  disturbs  Mrs.  Mil- 
man,  because  she  is  nervous  about  Margaret." 

"  O,  auntie,"  said  Gertie,  her  sad  face  lifted 
upward,  "  I  'in  just  afraid  to  see  poor  Hilda. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  Shall  I  tell  her  about  Gil- 
bertina  to-night?" 

"  Perhaps  she  is  asleep  by  this  time.  Surely, 
if  she  were  awake,  the  noise  would  have  dis- 
turbed her.  But  if  she  should  ask  any  ques- 
tions, you  will  have  to  tell  her,  dear.  It  makes 
very  little  difference  whether  she  finds  it  out 
now  or  in  the  morning." 

Nevertheless,  Gertie  hoped  that  Hilda  was 
asleep.  In  the  morning  some  one  else  could 
tell  her.  This  loving  little  creature  dreaded  to 
be  the  bearer  of  ill-tidings.  But  when  she  cau- 
tiously opened  the  door  she  saw  Hilda  standing 
by  the  bed  in  her  long  white  night-gown.  Ger- 
tie's first  thought  was  that  she  had  been  excited 
by  the  noise,  had  sprung  up,  and  waited  impa- 
tiently for  some  one  to  come.  But  that  could 
not  be  the  case,  for  Hilda  asked  no  questions. 
She  hurriedly  lay  down  and  closed  her  eyes. 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  331 

"Are  you  asleep,  darling?"  This  was  ob- 
viously an  unnecessary  question ;  but  Gertie 
wanted  to  make  the  dear  girl  feel  her  love  and 
tenderness,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing  else 
to  say.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  sweet  pity  in 
her  voice. 

"No,"  answered  Hilda,  quietly.  "  I 've  just 
got  into  bed." 

Gertie    laid   a   cold  little    hand    upon   her 
cousin's  forehead. 

"Your  face  is  hot,"  said  she,  in  caressing 
accents. 

"Your  hand  is  cold,"  returned  Hilda,  jerk- 
ing her  head  away. 

A  mere  trifle  was  sufficient  to  annoy  Hilda 
at  that  moment.  Gertie  was  not  offended  ;  she 
was  only  sorry,  and  she  could  not  go  away  until 
she  had  pressed  her  cheek  lovingly  against  the 
flushed  cheek  upon  the  pillow,  and  whispered  : 

"  Dear,  dear  Hilda,  I  love  you." 

The  affectionate  sympathetic  tone  pleased 
Hilda  so  much  that  she  reached  out  both  her 
arms,  and  put  them  around  Gertie's  neck.  She 
supposed  she  was  pitied  on  account  of  Fred's 
teasing,  and  it  was  very  nice  to  be  kissed  and 
caressed. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Gertie  was  tak- 
ing the  ribbon  from  her  hair,  Blanche  came 
into  the  room. 


332  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Is  Hilda  asleep?"  she  asked;  and  though 
Blanche  never  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  it  sounded 
as  if  she  did  so  then. 

"  No,"  answered  Gertie,  "  she  is  n't ;  but  she 
is  in  bed." 

She  was  afraid  that  Blanche  was  going  to 
tell  about  Gilbertina,  and  she  wanted  to  prevent 
it  if  she  could. 

"  I  can  see  that,"  retorted  the  young  lady. 
"  Hilda,  I  've  something  to  tell  you.  What  do 
you  think  has  happened  ?" 

"  What  ?"  inquired  a  smothered  voice.  "  I 
do  n't  care.  I  want  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  O,  you  cross  little  thing !  But  you  '11  care 
enough  when  I  tell  you.  Gilbertina  is  stolen. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

Two  frightened  eyes  glared  suddenly  out 
from  the  pillow.  Hilda's  face  looked  so  pale 
and  wild  that  it  startled  both  the  others.  They 
could  see  she  tried  to  speak,  but  her  lips  were 
stiff. 

"O,  darling,  don't  look  so!"  cried  the  re- 
pentant Blanche,  running  around  the  foot  of  the 
bed  to  take  her  sister  in  her  arms.  "  I  wish  I 
had  n't  told  you.  She  is  gone,  you  poor  child ; 
but  I  have  n't  any  doubt  we  '11  find  her  again. 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  you  would  be  the  very  one 
to  find  her  yourself." 

"Why!"  screamed   Hilda,  pushing   Blanche 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  333 

away  with  both  hands.  "Why  should  I  find 
Gilbertina?  I  did  n't  take  her  and  lose  her!" 

Do  you  see  what  it  had  led  to — the  long 
course  of  deceit  which  began  when  Hilda  re- 
fused her  mother's  suggestion  to  change  the 
name  of  the  doll  ?  It  had  led  to  a  lie.  For  the 
first  time  an  undeniable  falsehood  had  stained 
the  purity  of  this  precious  young  soul.  She 
had  not  even  the  excuse  that  she  was  forced  to 
answer  a  question.  The  first  mention  of  Gil- 
bertina had  shaken  her  with  a  storm  of  fear, 
and  forced  the  wicked  words  from  her  lips. 
Poor  Hilda  !  Almost  before  she  knew  it  they 
had  fluttered  forth  into  the  world,  and  they 
could  never  be  recalled. 

"  My  precious  little  sister,"  said  Blanche,  al- 
most sobbing  with  remorse,  "  did  you  suppose 
I  thought  you  did  ?  I  feel  so  very,  very  sorry 
for  you !  We  all  knew  you  were  here  in  bed 
the  whole  time.  It  is  a  shame  that  you  had  to 
lend  Gilbertina  to  Margaret ;  that  wretched  baby 
has  made  all  the  trouble." 

Hilda  leaned  against  her  sister,  feeling  so 
weak  and  helpless  that  she  wanted  somebody  to 
'hold  her  up.  The  weight  of  the  falsehood  she 
had  uttered  was  too  great  to  bear  alone. 

"Shall  I  tell  mamma  to  come?"  whispered 
Blanche.  Hilda  lifted  herself  away  at  once,  and 
lay  down  again. 


334  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"No,"  she  said,  fretfully.  "Don't  talk  to 
me,  Blanche ;  I  want  to  go  to  sleep." 

They  left  her  to  herself,  and  went  quietly 
about  the  room,  the  light  reduced  to  a  tiny  flame, 
that  its  brightness  might  not  keep  her  from 
sleeping.  O,  how  Hilda  longed  to  fall  asleep  ! 
But  after  Gertie,  at  her  side,  and  Blanche  on  the 
cot  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  had  passed  into  the 
happy  country  of  dreams,  she  was  •  still  lying 
there  with  wide,  distressed  eyes,  watching  the 
moon-gleams  on  the  wall. 

The  dreadful  words  she  had  uttered  refused 
to  leave  her  mind.  She  could  not  keep  from 
saying  them  over  and  over  to  herself,  moving 
her  lips  as  if  she  were  speaking  aloud.  "  I 
did  n't  take  her  and  lose  her.  I  did  n't  take  her 
and  lose  her." 

"  Do  you  s'pose  I  '11  never  think  of  anything 
else?"  she  asked  of  her  own  heart,  and  the  tears 
began  to  steal  down  her  cheeks. 

It  is  pretty  hard  for  a  little  girl  to  lie  awake 
at  any  time.  But  how  much  worse  if  it  is  the 
memory  of  sin  which  banishes  sleep!  The  lie 
on  Hilda's  lips  seemed  to  burn  her  mouth  ;  she 
felt  that  she  must  wash  it  away  with  a  retrac- 
tion. So  she  sat  up  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  her 
sister's  unconscious  face. 

"  Blanche,"  she  said,  in  low  but  distinct 
tones,  "  it  was  n't  the  truth  that  I  told  you 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  335 

about  Gilbertina.  I  did  take  her  and  lose 
her." 

Then  she  lay  down  again,  chills  running  up 
her  back,  and  her  teeth  chattering.  What  if 
Blanche  should  not  be  asleep  after  all  ?  Sup- 
pose she  and  Gertie  were  both  lying  awake ! 
Yes,  they  must  be.  They  had  only  been  keep- 
ing so  still  for  fear  of  disturbing  her.  Now  they 
were  too  angry  to  say  a  word.  But  they  would 
speak  pretty  soon,  and  say  what  a  horrid,  wicked 
girl  she  was,  and  Gertie's  mother  would  send 
word  for  her  to  come  home  right  away. 

So  this  wretched,  guilty  Hilda  went  on  tor- 
menting herself  until  the  soft  hand  of  sleep  was 
laid  pityingly  upon  her  eyelids. 

But  they  had  to  open  again  in  the  morning 
and  let  in  a  flood  of  painful  recollections.  She 
did  not  want  to  talk,  but  she  wanted  to  be 
talked  to ;  she  wanted  somebody  to  tell  her 
something  which  would  make  her  forget  yes- 
terday. This  is  just  what  they  could  not  do. 
The  sight  of  Hilda  made  them  remember  her 
doll,  and  before  they  started  down  to  breakfast, 
both  Blanche  and  Gertie  had  said  more  than 
once  that  they  did  wonder  where  Gilbertina 
could  be. 

At  the  breakfast-table  there  were  two  people 
who  were  looked  upon  as  invalids.  Margaret 
was  as  cross  as  a  spoiled  lapdog ;  but  she  was 


33^  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

pale,  and  so  was  Hilda.  Rose  made  them  some 
cream-toast,  but  Margaret  ate  it  nearly  all. 
Hilda  was  tired;  her  back  ached,  and  her  eye- 
lids did  not  seem  strong  enough  to  hold  them- 
selves up. 

The  pleasantest  thing  to  do  was  to  lie  on  the 
lounge  in  her  mother's  room,  and  keep  perfectly 
silent.  She  could  watch  her  mother  there,  and 
see  the  tender  smile  so  frequently  turned  upon 
her.  Gertie  did  not  go  to  school.  Anxious  as 
she  was  to  amuse  her  cousin,  she  found  Hilda 
so  unresponsive  that  she  soon  turned  her  atten- 
tion to  Margaret,  whom  nothing  could  keep 
from  fretting. 

"I  want  Tiltina,"  wailed  the  child.  " I  want 
the  pretty  doll-baby." 

"I  do  n't  suppose  Hilda  will  dare  to  let  you 
touch  another  of  her  dolls,"  said  Mrs.  Milman, 
bitterly.  "  It  seems  to  be  unfortunate  to  let 
them  come  into  your  hands.  I  would  send  out 
and  buy  you  some  kind  of  a  doll,  if  we  were 
not  going  away  this  afternoon." 

"Why,  she  can  have  my  Rosalind,  just. as 
well  as  not,"  said  Gertie,  eagerly;  but  Hilda 
glided  from  the  lounge  and  went  swiftly  through 
the  doorway.  She  was  back  in  a  moment,  laid 
a  doll  in  Margaret's  hands,  and  turned  away  with- 
out speaking.  It  was  her  very  best  Susy.  Mar- 
garet was  bidden  to  speak  her  thanks,  and  she 


THE  CURRANT-BUSHES.  337 

delightedly  obeyed,  while  she  nearly  pulled  Su- 
sy's flaxen  braid  from  her  head  in  attempting  to 
take  off  her  hair-ribbon. 

"Uncle  Gilbert 's  come  !"  the  voice  of  Ernest 
shouted  up  the  stairs.  "  He  's  come  in  Mrs.  Wrax- 
all's  buggy,  mamma.  Mamma,  look  out  of  the 
window  and  see !" 


GILBER TINA'S    NOSE. 

YES,  it  is  Uncle  Gilbert!"  declared  Hilda, 
her  face  against  the  window,  while  Gertie 
fell  over  her  shoulder,  and  Margaret  pushed  Su- 
sy's head  under  her  arm.  "  He  's  all  bundled 
up  in  a  silk  handkerchief,  mamma.  Do  you  sup- 
pose he  is  sick  ?" 

It  was  only  his  neck  which  was  enveloped 
in  a  silvery  blue  muffler.  He  did  not  walk  so 
briskly  as  was  his  wont,  and  his  sister's  solicit- 
ous eye  saw  at  once  that  he  was  not  well. 

"Just  a  little  cold;  better  than  it  was,"  he 
said,  as  she  drew  him  into  the  library. 

The  room  had  filled  with  children  in  an  in- 
stant. Archer  was  poking  the  fire,  while  Er- 
nest beat  a  great  lump  of  coal  with  the  shovel. 

Mr.  Pitcher's  voice  seemed  to  come  from  his 
boots.  It  frightened  Hilda  to  hear  him  speak 
338 


GILBERTINA'S  NOSE.  339 

in  tones  so  harsh  and  rasping.  She  caught  his 
hand,  and  began  to  stroke  his  fingers. 

"Why,  here  is  my  girl,"  growled  her  uncle, 
affectionately,  drawing  Hilda  to  his  knee,  with- 
out stopping  to  take  off  his  overcoat. 

"Is  your  throat  sore?"  asked  Mrs.  Craig, 
anxiously. 

"  Yes,  it  is — a  little.  O,  you  must  n't  be  wor- 
ried. I  'm  going  to  be  all  right,  now  I  've  got 
home  again.  Guess  I  do  n't  know  how  to  take 
care  of  myself.  Hilda  will  take  care  of  me  now, 
won't  she?"  he  asked,  wrapping  his  shaggy 
coat-sleeves  around  her  until  she  was  almost 
hidden. 

"O,  I  will,  Uncle  Gilbert!  Shall  I  make 
you  some  butter-scotch?  I  made  some  once," 
returned  Hilda,  shaking  herself  free  to  sit  up 
and  look  into  his  face. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Uncle  Gilbert  was  estab- 
lished on  the  lounge  in  the  library,  feeling  re- 
markably cheerful  and  comfortable.  His  bad 
cold  was  a  very  bad  one,  indeed,  and  he  had 
done  a  wise  thing  in  coming  home  to  be  cared 
for.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  rest  in  the  warm, 
cozy  library,  with  loving  faces  all  about  him, 
that  he  almost  forgot  his  aching  limbs  and 
throbbing  head.  Everybody  moved  gently,  care- 
ful that  they  did  not  slam  doors,  nor  speak 
loudly  nor  suddenly  ;  and  absolute  quiet  he  did 


34°  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

not  desire.  Mrs.  Craig  brought  her  knitting, 
Blanche  her  embroidery,  and  Mrs.  Milman  a 
dress  of  Margaret's  which  needed  mending. 
Hilda  kept  close  to  her  uncle  at  first,  but  after 
a  while  she  began  to  grow  restless.  He  was 
holding  her  hand,  and  she  tried  to  draw  it  gently 
away. 

"Are  you  going  to  leave  me?"  he  asked.  "Is 
it  time  for  school  ?" 

"O,  it's  away  past  time.  Archer  and  Ernest 
have  gone ;  but  Gertie  and  I  are  n't  going.  I  '11 
be  back  pretty  soon,  Uncle  Gilbert." 

"  Hilda  was  our  invalid  before  you  came," 
said  Mrs.  Craig,  and  Hilda  waited  to  hear  no 
more. 

She  beckoned  frantically  to  the  amazed  Ger- 
tie, and  went  out  of  the  room.  Gertie  followed 
her  into  the  parlor,  and  they  sat  down  together 
upon  the  hearth-rug. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Gertie,  who 
saw  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  I  got  to  thinking  about  Gilbertina.  Some- 
body will  tell  him,  or  else  he  will  ask  me.  But 
I  just  know  somebody  will  tell.  O  Gertie,  what 
will  he  say  ?" 

"  He  will  be  sorry  for  you,  just  like  every- 
body else,"  answered  Gertie,  affectionately. 

"  O,"  breathed  Hilda,  "  won't  he  be  mad  at 
me,  do  n't  you  think  ?  It  was  such  a  lovely 


GILBERTINA  'S  NOSE.  341 

doll,  and  cost — O,  I  do  'nt  know  how  much 
money!" 

"  But  it  is  n't  your  fault ;  you  feel  worse 
than  anybody  else.  Nobody  could  be  mad  at 
you.  But  he  '11  be  awfully  mad  at  the  thief. 
Ernest  says  he  has  a  revolver,"  and  Gertie 
looked  horrified. 

"  He  would  n't  shoot  anybody,"  returned 
Hilda,  quickly.  "  How  would  he  know  the 
right  person?"  Then  she  jumped  up.  u  What 
if  I  should  make  Uncle  Gilbert  some  butter- 
scotch ?  It  is  good  for  colds  ;  my  papa  always 
wants  it." 

"  So  is  vinegar-candy.  Let  me  make  it,  and 
you  make  butter-scotch.  Shall  we  ?" 

"  O  yes,"  was  the  delighted  assent. 

While  the  candy-making  went  on  in  the 
kitchen,  Uncle  Gilbert,  never  dreaming  of  the 
treat  in  store  for  him,  lay  on  the  lounge  and 
read  one  of  the  Waverley  Novels.  The  vine- 
gar-candy was  pulled,  cut  into  bits,  and  dropped 
into  pulverized  sugar.  Prettier  sweetmeats 
than  these  silver-white  morsels  are  seldom  seen, 
and  they  crumbled  away  in  the  mouth  like  the 
finest  cream-candy  ever  bought. 

"  Now  your  butter-scotch  must  be  cool," 
Gertie  said.  "  O,  let's  hurry  up  and  break  it, 
so  Uncle  Gilbert  can  see !" 

Gertie    already    called    him    Uncle    Gilbert. 


342  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

The  two  saw  at  first  glance  that  they  would 
undoubtedly  be  friends.  Each  liked  the  other 
for  loving  Hilda. 

"  Do  n't  you  hope  it's  good?"  asked  Hilda, 
bringing  in  the  pan  from  the  frosty  ground. 
She  could  not  help  feeling  doubtful,  because  it 
had  stuck  to  the  sauce-pan  while  boiling.  The 
little  cooks  tasted  a  bit,  and  Hilda  looked 
straight  at  her  cousin  while  they  ate. 

"It  isn't  very  bad,  is  it?"  she  questioned, 
plaintively. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  I  made  some  once  that  was 
worse  than  this.  This  is  just  a  little  bitter ; 
that 's  all.  Uncle  Gilbert  won't  mind  it,  be- 
cause it  will  do  his  cough  such  a  great  deal  of 
good." 

"Why,  I  could  eat  it  all  up  myself,  without 
a  speck  of  trouble,"  and  Hilda  choked  down  a 
second  bit  of  the  dubious  luxury.  Gertie  did 
not  care  for  any  more  just  then. 

"What  dear,  good  girls  you  are!" 

This  is  what  Mr.  Pitcher  said  when  two 
short  figures  in  long  gingham  aprons  presented 
him  with  two  plates,  the  burden  of  one  being 
frosty  white,  and  of  the  other  black-brown 
candy.  He  was  positive  at  first  that  the  latter 
was  very  much  the  best,  and  he  remained  of 
that  opinion  as  long  as  he  could.  That,  how- 
ever, was  not  a  great  while.  He  resolved  that 


GILBER  TINA 'S  NOSE.  343 

he  would  take  a  bit  from  each  plate  in  turn. 
Every  melting  white  confection  should  be  paid 
for  with  a  dose  of  dark-colored  medicine.  He 
heroically  kept  to  his  resolution.  If  Hilda's 
sensitive  heart  was  grieved,  it  should  not  be  her 
uncle  who  caused  the  pain. 

Nobody  felt  very  sorry  when  Margaret  and 
her  mother  drove  away.  It  seemed  as  if  there 
had  been  a  cloud  on  the  sky  for  some  days. 
Not  a  very  heavy  one,  of  course — just  a  thin 
gray  haze,  which  let  the  sun  shine  through,  but 
made  it  pale  and  chilly.  Now  the  air  was 
bright  again. 

"  You  girls  come  into  the  dining-room,"  said 
Archer,  importantly.  "  I  've  got  something  to 
say  to  you.  Now,"  he  went  on,  when  the  door 
was  closed,  and  an  expectant  audience  of  two 
was  before  him,  "  you  know  we  must  try  to  en- 
tertain Uncle  Gilbert,  because  he  is  sick.  If  he 
were  real  sick,  we  would  n't  have  to  do  any- 
thing ;  he  'd  stay  in  bed,  and  be  still  and  dark. 
But  this  is  worse.  He  's  just  sick  enough  to  be 
worried,  because  he  can't  go  out  of  doors  and 
work  like  other  men.  Do  n't  I  know  ?  It  was 
horrid  when  I  had  the  chicken-pox  last  year — a 
big  fellow  like  me,  with  all  the  boys  making 
fun.  I  felt  just  as  well  as  I  ever  did ;  but  if  I 
took  cold,  something  awful  would  happen,  and 
if  I  read  or  used  my  fret-saw,  my  eyes  would 


344  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

turn  in  or  out.  So  I  know  how  Uncle  Gilbert 
feels." 

The  orator  had  to  pause  here  for  lack  of 
breath,  and  one  of  his  audience  inopportunely 
remarked  : 

"  But  Uncle  Gilbert  can  use  his  eyes.  He  's 
reading  so  hard  that  he  did  n't  hear  me  when  I 
went  into  the  room." 

"  He  ought  n't  to  do  it,"  rejoined  Archer, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "  You  can't  blame 
him.  It  must  have  been  dull  when  the  boys  of 
us  were  at  school,  and  the  rest  of  you  had  to 
help  Mrs.  Mihnan  get  ready  to  go  away.  But 
he  must  not  read  at  night.  So  we  've  got  a 
plan." 

"  O,  Archer,  have  you  !" 

"  Yes.  Barn  Simeral  and  I  are  going  to 
give  a  shadow  pantomime,  and  then  we  '11  all 
play  games.  Here  's  Ern.  He  's  been  to  tell 
Fred  and  Annie  to  come  over  this  evening." 

Enter  Ernest,  stamping  his  feet  to  warm 
them. 

"  Well,  old  chap,  are  they  coming?"  inquired 
his  brother. 

"  'Course  they  're  coming ;  they  know  when 
they  're  well  off,"  replied  Ernest,  holding  two 
stiff  red  hands  before  the  fire.  "Say,  Hilda, 
rim  into  Tomlinson's  for  my  mitten,  will  you? 
I  've  dropped  it  somewhere." 


GILBER  TINA 'S  NOSE.  345 

This  was  said  merely  because  it  had  a  smart 
sound.  Ernest  had  no  idea  that  Hilda  would 
brave  the  cold  air  to  search  for  his  mitten ;  nor 
was  there  the  least  necessity  that  any  one  should 
do  so,  for  the  next  moment  Gertie  picked  it  up 
from  the  floor. 

"  Now  we  ought  to  make  up  a  program," 
said  the  methodical  Archer,  producing  a  pocket 
note-book,  and  with  difficulty  discovering  a 
blank  page.  "  First,  shadow  pantomime — Messrs. 
Simeral  and  Craig.  Now,  it 's  your  turn,  Er- 
nest. What  shall  we  do  next?" 

"  Do  n't  know  a  thing.  We  've.  played  all 
there  is  till  it 's  worn  as  thin  as  get  out,"  was 
the  utterly  incomprehensible  reply. 

"If  Blanche  will  play,  we  might  have  cha- 
rades; but  generally  she  won't." 

"  Characters,"  faintly  suggested  Hilda  ;  but 
Archer  shut  up  his  book  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
her  speak.  If  the  family  should  play  Characters 
every  time  she  wished  it,  they  would  never  play 
anything  else. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  Uncle  Gilbert 
when,  as  he  sat  quietly  reading  that  evening,  a 
surprise  party  marched  in,  and  announced  that 
they  had  come  to  entertain  him.  He  was  too 
considerate  to  let  them  see  that  they  were  unwel- 
come, so  he  closed  the  charming  little  green 
volume  with  a  beaming  smile. 


346  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  Well,  young  people,  this  is  kind  indeed. 
What  are  your  plans  ?  Had  we  better  go  some- 
where else  ?  We  may  disturb  your  father  and 
mother." 

"  No ;  they  '11  like  to  see  the  pantomime. 
Won't  you,  papa  and  mamma?" 

Mrs.  Craig  replied,  as  she  produced  her  ever- 
ready  knitting- work  that  she  certainly  would, 
and  her  husband  murmured  abstractedly: 

"  Let  me  know  when  you  're  ready,  and  I  '11 
look." 

"Uncle  Gilbert,  this  is  my  friend,  Barnard 
Simeral ;  this  is  Fred  Tomlinson,  and  this  is 
Annie  Tomlinson." 

Barnard,  who  was  never  bashful,  stepped 
promptly  forward  and  shook  hands.  His  boots 
were  shining  with  polish,  his  coat  was  well 
brushed,  and  a  crimson  necktie  gave  the  last 
touch  of  elegance  to  his  costume.  Fred's  shoes 
were  rusty,  as  usual,  and  one  of  them  had  a 
small  hole  in  the  toe.  But  Barnard  was  the  only 
one  who  noticed  this.  Fred  himself  had  no  sus- 
picion that  it  was  there. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  we  ask  you  to  move  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room?"  demanded  Archer,  of 
his  elders.  "  We  must  hang  the  sheet  on  this 
side,  you  know,  because  we  've  got  to  come  in 
behind  it,  and  there  is  n't  any  other  door." 

They  did  not  mind,  although  Mr.  Craig  had 


GILBERTINAIS  NOSE.  347 

to  abandon  his  book.  The  three  patient  grown- 
people  sat  in  a  line,  close  against  the  bookcase, 
and  the  children  knocked  chairs  against  their 
knees  until  they  had  settled  themselves  to  their 
satisfaction  in  front.  Barnard  and  Archer  hung 
a  sheet  so  as  to  hide  one  corner  of  the  room, 
and  were  ready  to  begin  the  performance  when 
Blanche  requested  admission. 

"All  right ;  thought  you  were  in  there  al- 
ready. Please  lift  the  curtain  carefully,  Blanche ; 
the  tacks  pull  out  pretty  easy." 

"  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  will  see 
the  new  and  original  pantomime — 'The  Dentist 
and  the  Man  with  the  Toothache.'  " 

"  Thrilling  subject,"  commented  Mr.  Craig. 
But  attention  was  riveted  upon  the  curtain, 
for  the  pantomime  began  with  praiseworthy 
promptness.  A  shadow  appeared  upon  the 
tightly-stretched  white  linen ;  a  man  in  a  long 
dressing-gown,  who  marched  back  and  forth 
like  an  ogre  with  a  victim  in  view.  His  hair 
was  thick  and  curly,  and  he  thrust  his  hands 
through  it  until  it  looked  like  a  clump  of  bushes. 

"That's  Archer"  observed  a  self-satisfied 
voice. 

Then  another  figure  appeared,  wearing  a 
mantle  easily  reognized  as  Blanche's  mackin- 
tosh. A  bandage  was  bound  around  the  head, 
which  was  wonderfully  large  and  smooth;  he 


348  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

moved  slowly,  and  kept  both  hands  pressed 
upon  his  cheeks. 

The  dentist  pointed  eagerly  to  his  mouth, 
and  the  visitor  nodded,  whereupon  the  former 
quickly  rolled  forward  a  chair,  and  the  latter 
got  into  it  with  timid  and  cautious  movements. 
When  the  forceps  were  produced  a  laugh  con- 
vulsed the  throng  of  spectators,  for  they  were 
as  long  as  the  arms  which  wielded  them.  More 
than  one  pair  of  eyes  turned  toward  the  hearth, 
and  saw,  as  was  expected,  that  the  tongs  were 
missing. 

The  suffering  patient  threw  out  his  hand  in 
protest,  but  he  was  too  late ;  the  instrument  of 
torture  was  close  upon  him.  A  long,  violent 
pull — the  dentist  staggered  back — and  O,  horror 
of  horrors !  the  man's  head  dropped  from  his 
shoulders  and  rolled  over  the  floor. 

Before  the  spectators  could  give  expression 
to  their  alarm,  the  decapitated  victim  leaped 
nimbly  to  his  feet,  picked  up  his  head,  and 
threw  it  at  his  tormentor,  who  rushed  away,  af- 
frighted. A  moment  later  two  laughing,  red- 
faced  boys  emerged  from  behind  the  curtain, 
one  with  a  cloak  over  his  head  and  a  football  in 
his  hand. 

"  Well  done,  Archer !"  cried  the  proud  father, 
applauding  with  an  enthusiasm  which  seemed 
to  give  the  children  license  for  all  manner  of 


GILBER  TINA 'S  NOSE.  349 

noise.  Blanche  assisted  Barnard  to  lay  aside 
his  cloak,  and  the  ball  which  had  served  as  a 
head  was  kicked  merrily  into  the  hall  by  the 
active  feet  of  Ernest  and  Fred. 

Quiet  being  secured,  the  room  was  restored 
to  its  usual  appearance,  and  Uncle  Gilbert  joy- 
fully resumed  his  comfortable  arm-chair.  Then 
arose  a  discussion  as  to  what  game  would  best 
please  the  whole  party.  Charades  were  not  to 
be  thought  of,  for  Blanche  positively  refused 
to  act. 

A  spirit  of  dissent  prevailed.  Many  games 
were  suggested,  but  not  one  met  with  universal 
approval.  The  suggestions  were  received  with 
loud  objections  or  gloomy  and  contemptuous  si- 
lence. At  length  Mr.  Craig  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  Archer  was  roused  to  a  decision. 

"  If  nobody  else  wants  anything,  I  s'pose 
we  'd  better  play  Characters  ;  that 's  what  Hilda 
likes." 

This  unexpected  deference  to  her  wishes 
filled  his  sister's  heart  with  gratitude.  Uncle 
Gilbert's  voice  was  at  once  raised  in  favor  of  the 
proposed  game,  and  Fred  Tomlinson  was  or- 
dered to  leave  the  room. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  play,  Uncle  Gilbert?" 
questioned  Archer,  lowering  his  voice  mysteri- 
ously. 

"I  don't  believe  I  do." 


350  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Well,  we  must  agree  on  a  character  for  Fred 
to  represent.  It  may  be  in  history,  or  in  a 
story,  or  somebody  we  know.  Then,  when  he 
comes  in,  we  begin  to  talk  to  him  as  if  he  were 
that  person,  and  when  he  thinks  he  knows  who 
it  is  he  talks  like  it  himself.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"Then  whom  shall  we  take  ?" 

"  Charlemagne,"  suggested  Gertie. 

Annie  Tomlinson  stared  at  her  disapprov- 
ingly. 

"Fred  don't  know  who  that  is." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  confessed  Barnard. 

Gertie  did  not  dare  to  mention  Alexander 
the  Great,  whose  name  was  on  her  tongue,  for 
fear  that  he,  too,  might  be  unknown. 

"  We  might  give  him  Mr.  Peterson,"  said 
Barnard.  "We  all  know  him." 

"All  but  Uncle  Gilbert.  O,  and  he  does,  too! 
Mr.  Peterson  was  here  once  for  dinner.  Come 
in,  Fred,"  bawled  Archer  ;  and  Fred  answered 
the  summons  at  once. 

"  Late  as  usual,"  was  his  sister's  scornful 
greeting. 

He  looked  as  if  he  did  not  know  whether 
this  was  or  was  not  a  part  of  the  play. 

"  O,  he  forgot  the  key,  and  had  to  go  back 
for  it,"  giggled  Hilda. 


GILBER  TINA  *S  NOSE.  3  5 1 

Archer  gave  her  a  warning  glance.  Fred's 
eyes  began  to  sparkle.  Mr.  Peterson  had 
dropped  the  school-house  key  in  the  hall  of  his 
boarding-house  only  a  few  days  before.  It  was 
some  little  time  before  he  found  it,  and  the 
children  had  waited  in  the  cold  air,  ignorant  of 
the  cause  of  his  delay. 

"Who's  your  best  scholar?"  recklessly  de- 
manded Barnard. 

Fred  dropped  his  chin  upon  his  neck,  and 
put  on  an  anxious  expression. 

"  I  have  n't  any  best  scholars,  young  man," 
he  replied,  in  a  voice  which  was  not  a  bad  imi- 
tation of  his  teacher's,  "  but  I  can  tell  you  who 
is  the  worst.  If  Barn  Simeral  was  n't  my  forty- 
second  cousin,  I  'd  expel  him  for  being  such  a 
dunce;  but  I  '11  stand  by  my  relations,  no  mat- 
ter if  they  steal  my  bell  every  day  and  send  idi- 
ots up  to  bear  the  blame." 

The  silence  which  followed  made  Mr.  Pitcher 
look  from  one  to  another  of  the  children,  seek- 
ing an  explanation  in  their  faces.  Barnard's 
cheeks  were  burning  and  his  eyes  full  of  a  sul- 
len glow.  Hare-brained  Fred  regretted  his  im- 
prudent words  in  an  instant ;  he  did  not  want 
to  make  anybody  angry,  but  his  unappeasable 
love  of  teasing  was  always  hurrying  him  into 
foolish  and  unkind  conduct.  Barnard  was  not 
a  dunce,  by  any  means.  He  was  slower  to  learn 


352  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

than  some  of  his  companions,  but  studied  with 
a  faithfulness  which  did  him  credit.  The  epi- 
sode of  the  bell  had  long  been  regarded  as  an 
unsafe  subject  of  conversation;  but  it  was  just 
like  Fred  to  make  the  wildest  mistakes  in  con- 
versation, without  the  least  intention  of  doing 
wrong. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig  had  left  the  room  before 
the  game  began,  so  Archer  cast  an  appealing 
glance  at  his  elder  sister. 

"O,"  said  Blanche,  quickly,  "you  know  who 
you  are  !  Now,  whom  did  you  find  it  out  on  ?" 

"  Hilda."  And  Fred  sank  upon  a  hassock, 
as  far  as  possible  from  his  offended  schoolmate. 

Hilda  was  not  sorry  to  leave  the  room.  She 
was  so  very  much  frightened  by  Fred's  unlucky 
speech  that  she  felt  safer  to  be  away  from  the 
scene  of  disturbance.  She  would  not  linger 
close  to  the  door ;  there  was  a  possibility  that 
she  might  overhear  what  was  not  intended  for 
her  ears.  Therefore,  she  withdrew  to  the  twi- 
light and  solitude  of  the  back  staircase. 

It  was  not  until  she  was  established  upon 
the  lowest  step  that  she  recollected  what  had 
had  happened  there  the  evening  before.  All 
day  long  she  had  tried  to  forget  Gilbertina 
lying  under  the  brown  leaves.  Archer's  panto- 
mime had  driven  the  trouble  away  for  a  short 
time,  but  it  was  all  back  again  now.  What  a 


GILBERTINA'S  NOSE.  353 

tiresome,  aching  trouble  it  was ;  and  O,  how 
wicked  she  felt ! 

Something  sparkled  on  the  carpet.  Hilda 
stooped  and  picked  it  up.  Poor  little  sharp- 
edged  fragment !  It  did  not  look  as  if  it  had 
ever  been  an  important  part  of  a  beautiful  face, 
but  Hilda  could  not  be  deceived.  She  knew  it 
was  Gilbertina's  nose. 

"Hilda,  Hilda!"  shouted  an  impatient  voice, 
"wherein  the  world  have  you  gone  to?"  de- 
manded Archer,  appearing  at  the  dining-room 
door.  "Why  didn't  you  step  over  into  West 
Virginia,  and  wait  until  you  were  called  for?" 
he  added,  humorously. 

"  I  wanted  to  get  far  away,  so  that  I  could  n't 
possibly  hear,"  she  answered,  humbly. 

The  hot  little  hand  closed  tightly  over  the 
tiny  white  fragment,  and  she  had  to  stop  out- 
side the  library  door  to  rub  a  tear  from  her 
cheek. 

"  Good  evening,  madam."  Fred  made  her 
an  elaborate  bow.  He  seemed  to  have  recovered 
his  spirits. 

Hilda  noticed  that  Uncle  Gilbert  was  smil- 
ing. They  could  not  be  going  to  make  fun  of 
her,  or  he  certainly  would  not  look  pleased. 

"  I  sorrow  that  all  fair  things  must  decay," 
quoted  Blanche,  in  mournful  accents. 

"  You  're  just  as  pretty  as  you  can  be,"  de- 
23 


354  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

clared  Gertie.  "  Why,  you  're  lovely  !  I  've 
seen  lots  of — of  people  like  you,  but  you  're  the 
prettiest  of  all." 

The  sharp,  white  thing  in  Hilda's  hand  was 
cutting  her  fingers.  She  was  afraid  she  knew 
what  they  were  talking  about. 

"You're  fond  of  nuts,  are  n't  you?"  asked 
Fred. 

"  Nuts  ?"  repeated  Hilda,  blankly. 

"Yes,  nuts,  ma'am;  filberts,  for  example." 

There  was  an  uproarious  laugh  from  four  jo- 
vial boys.  But  Mr.  Pitcher  looked  puzzled. 

"Ah  me!"  sighed  Blanche,  "where  are  you 
now  ?  Have  you  disappeared  from  our  sight  for- 
ever?" 

"  Tell  the  truth,"  urged  Archer.  "  Did  Mar- 
garet Milman  swallow  you,  shoes  and  all  ?" 

The  chair  next  to  Uncle  Gilbert's  was  vacant, 
and  Hilda  walked  over  and  took  it.  He  was 
very  glad  that  she  did  so,  and  clasped  his  hand 
around  the  fist  which  held  the  bit  of  porcelain. 
Hilda  did  not  speak ;  she  laid  her  head  against 
his  shoulder  and  was  still  so  long  that  be  began 
to  be  afraid  she  was  crying. 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  darling?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  play  any  longer." 

"  O,  that  isn't  fair!"  shouted  two  or  three 
voices.  "  If  you  know  who  *you  are,  you  've 
got  to  tell.  Make  her  tell,  Mr.  Pitcher." 


GILBERTINA'S  NOSE.  355 

"  Do  you  know,  Hilda?"  he  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  They  mean  my  doll ;  and  they 
have  n't  got  any  right  to  mean  her.  I  do  n't 
think  you  're  very  nice  at  all — not  any  of  you." 

This  sweeping  denunciation  made  one  or 
two  of  the  children  laugh ;  but  it  cut  Gertie  to 
the  heart.  She  had  not  approved  of  letting 
Hilda  represent  Gilbertina,  but  had  been  power- 
less against  an  overwhelming  majority.  How- 
ever, Hilda  was  too  sure  of  her  kindness  really 
to  believe  her  guilty  ;  and,  when  Gertie  came  to 
stand  beside  her  chair,  she  smiled  faintly,  and 
asked  her  to  tell  Uncle  Gilbert  about  the  doll; 
for  he,  poor  man,  was  quite  in  the  dark.  When 
the  name  of  Gilbertina  was  suggested,  it  was 
decided  upon  so  quickly  that  he  heard  nothing 
of  her  disappearance.  Gertie  told  all  that 
anybody  (with  one  exception)  knew  of  the  oc- 
currence ;  and  he  pitied  Hilda,  and  silently  re- 
solved that  she  should  have  another  and  still 
more  beautiful  doll. 

Blanche  exerted  herself  to  restore  a  good 
state  of  feeling,  and  Hilda  recovered  far  enough 
to  join  in  the  games.  The  little  guests  de- 
parted, saying  that  they  had  had  a  splendid 
time  and  wished  they  could  stay  two  hours 
longer. 

After    they    had    gone,    an   unhappy    little 


356  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

girl  looked  out  of  her  bedroom-window  at  the 
indistinct  line  of  the  currant-bushes.  When  she 
turned  away,  she  opened  a  bureau-drawer. 
There  was  a  little  box,  covered  with  dark-blue 
velvet,  wherein,  sunk  in  pink  cotton,  lay  the 
trinkets  which  Hilda  called  her  jewelry.  Among 
them  she  laid  the  worthless  white  fragment  so 
long  hidden  in  her  palm.  Why  did  she  put  it 
there?  Why  did  she  not  open  the  window 
and  drop  it  forever  from  her  sight? 


Chapter* 

THE  T-RIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR. 

A  RCHER  CRAIG  had  an  active  mind  and 
/i  dextrous  fingers.  The  first  time  he  saw  a 
kaleidoscope,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would 
like  to  have  one  for  his  own,  and  might  as  well 
make  it  himself;  and  his  success  in  this  under- 
taking encouraged  him  to  other  mechanical 
efforts. 

When  the  children  went  to  a  concert,  they 
always  prolonged  the  pleasure  it  gave  them  by 
repeating  the  entertainment  under  his  leader- 
ship. Rose  was  their  audience.  She  had  also 
to  look  at  their  tableaux,  and  guess  the  cha- 
rades they  acted.  Craig  and  Simeral's  Museum 
was  famous  throughout  Hawthorn.  Many  were 
the  pins  received  at  the  door  of  this  remarkable 
institution,  wherein  could  be  seen  broken- 
winged  butterflies,  a  stuffed  bluejay,  and  min- 

357 


358  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

erals  ranging  in  value  from  a  rhinestone  to  a 
lump  of  bituminous  coal. 

u  I  declare,  Archer,"  Hilda  said,  one  day, 
"  I  never  saw  a  boy  who  could  do  so  many 
things  as  you  can.  Why,  you  can  do  anything 
at  all." 

The  immediate  cause  of  this  compliment 
was  his  skill  in  pen-and-ink  drawing.  His 
mother  had  requested  some  labels  for  goose- 
berry jelly,  and  Archer  had  drawn  a  goose, 
with  open  mouth  and  outspread  wings. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  genius,  modestly,  ua 
little  of  everything,  and  not  enough  of  any- 
thing to  make  a  man  of  me." 

Hilda  had  a  high  opinion  of  her  brother's 
talents.  She  firmly  believed  that  another  boy 
so  richly  gifted  did  not  exist.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  his  work,  her  doll-house  would  have 
lacked  several  pretty  and  useful  articles  of  fur- 
niture ;  for  Archer  was  a  carpenter  at  times, 
and  had  a  shop  in  the  woodshed. 

But  he  liked  nothing  so  well  as  journalism. 
His  earliest  efforts  in  that  direction  had  been 
made  before  he  could  write.  His  mother  treas- 
ured certain  tiny  sheets  of  paper,  covered  with 
printed  characters — copies  of  a  Lilliputian  peri- 
odical entitled  the  Craig  Weekly.  Archer 
would  have  scorned  this  work  of  the  child  he 
once  had  been  ;  but  it  was  precious  to  his  mother. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  359 

The  Craig  Weekly  was  succeeded  by  the 
Union  Journal,  and  that  by  the  Rural  Jour- 
nal, which  was  in  course  of  publication  at 
the  time  of  which  I  write.  Every  Thurs- 
day it  was  seen  upon  the  library-table;  for 
nothing  was  allowed  to  interfere  with  the 
regularity  of  its  appearance.  Contributions 
were  requested  from  all  the  editor's  friends; 
yet  he  frequently  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
in  filling  his  four  foolscap  pages.  Blanche  oc- 
casionally handed  in  a  story,  rich  with  silk 
robes,  costly  jewels,  and  marble  mansions ;  and 
Ernest  wrote  a  tale  almost  every  week.  Once 
it  was  "Robbie  and  the  Tiger,"  and  the  next 
time  "Frankie  and  the  Bear."  His  fancy 
reveled  in  small  boys  who  met  with  wild 
beasts,  produced  a  convenient  weapon  from 
somewhere,  and  shot  or  stabbed  their  furry 
enemies.  Hilda  was  always  going  to  write,  and 
putting  it  off  until  another  time. 

For  the  last  few  weeks,  Gertie  had  been  a 
valuable  assistant.  But  in  spite  of  her  aid,  ed- 
itorials had  to  be  lengthened  too  much  for  their 
own  good,  and  an  undesirably  large  number  of 
clippings  were  required  to  "fill  up." 

On  a  certain  Thursday  morning,  very  near 
to  the  Christmas  holidays,  Editor  Craig  awoke 
with  a  depressing  sense  of  responsibility.  Only 
three-fourths  of  the  first  page  were  ready,  that 


360  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

space  being  filled  by  an  editorial  on  "Dudes." 
Archer  was  so  afraid  of  becoming  a  dude  that 
he  was  careful  not  to  keep  his  hair  smooth. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  he  rushed 
away  to  the  writing-table  in  the  second-story 
hall.  One  of  its  drawers  was  used  as  a  depos- 
itory for  contributions. 

"Not  a  thing  here!"  exclaimed  the  irate 
journalist.  "  Do  they  expect  me  to  write  the 
whole  paper  myself?  It's  a  burning  shame! 
I  wonder  where  Gertie  is!" 

For  he  could  not  believe  that  Gertie  would 
leave  him  in  the  lurch.  He  found  her  watching 
Quillup  eat  his  breakfast.  Her  story  was  all 
ready,  and  put  away  in  her  handkerchief-box. 

"I  hope  you  '11  like  it,  Arch,"  she  said,  when 
she  brought  it  to  his  table.  "It  is  named  'Self- 
sacrifice;  or,  Noble  Jessie  Norton.'  Jessie's  a 
girl  that  has  two  bad  brothers  and  five  bad  sis- 
ters. They  all  treat  her  horribly.  They  take 
away  everything  that  her  father  and  mother  give 
her,  and  then  say  she  lost  it  or  threw  it  away 
on  purpose.  So  the  consequence  is,  everybody 
just  hates  Jessie,  and  she  cries  all  night.  Then 
her  fairy  godmother  rides  in  on  a  broomstick — 
no,  I  mean  a  butterfly.  What  am  I  thinking 
01?  She  is  n't  a  witch!  'Come  with  me,  Jessie, 
to  the  Cave  of  Rubies.'  So  they  go,  and  Jessie 
gets  thousands  and  thousands  of  rubies,  maybe 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  361 

a  billion — she  does  n't  know,  for  she  does  n't 
count.  And  she  comes  back,  and  gives  nearly 
all  those  invaluable  rubies  to  her  brothers  and 
sisters.  But  still  they  treat  her  so  that  she  goes 
away,  and  lives  in  Paris,  and — " 

"All  right!  all  right!"  interrupted  the  editor, 
impatiently.  "  I  have  n't  time  to  hear  any  more. 
You  know  I  '11  find  out  all  about  the  story  when 
I  read  it,  and  you  never  saw  anybody  as  busy 
as  I  am.  Now,  let 's  see  how  much  space  it 
will  take  up.  A  whole  page,  I  should  n't  won- 
der. Gertie,  you're  a  dear!" 

He  went  to  work  at  the  copying  without  de- 
lay ;  for,  as  he  had  scarcely  half  an  hour  before 
school-time,  every  minute  rmist  be  utilized.  Be- 
fore he  had  written  twenty  words,  Blanche 
called  him. 

"If  you  want  to  see  me,  you'll  have  to 
come  up  here,"  he  shouted,  in  reply.  "  I  'in 
busy  writing." 

Blanche  came  reluctantly  up  the  stairs.  He 
heard  her  murmuring  something  which  had  an 
impatient  sound,  but  he  did  not  look  up  until 
she  was  close  at  his  side. 

"Arch,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  store.  You 
will,  won't  you?" 

"No,  I  can  not.  You  mustn't  ask  me. 
The  Rural  Journal 's  got  to  come  out  this  even- 
ing, and  there  is  n't  a  page  written  yet." 


362  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  O,  you  '11  have  lots  of  time  this  afternoon. 
Do  go,  like  a  dear  good  brother.  I  'm  going  to 
make  a  chocolate-cake." 

Archer  was  very  fond  of  chocolate-cake.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked  irresolute. 

"Send  Ernest,"  was  his  advice. 

"I  can't  find  him.  He  is  never  around  when 
he  is  wanted." 

"Well,  Blanche,  I  'd  like  to  oblige  you,  but 
it  is  no  use  talking.  We  '11  have  to  go  without 
cake  to-day." 

"  We  can't,  Archer.  What  do  you  mean  by 
saying  such  things?"  demanded  Blanche,  almost 
crying.  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wraxall  will  be  here  for 
dinner.  I  never  saw  such  disobliging  brothers 
as  mine.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"There  's  no  reason  why  you  should  n't  go 
yourself,"  grumbled  Archer,  laying  the  unfin- 
ished paper  in  his  blotting-book.  "  Give  me 
the  money,"  he  said,  gruffly,  looking  under  the 
chair  for  his  hat. 

The  Rural  Journal  must  be  abandoned  until 
afternoon.  He  rushed  to  the  store  for  a  pack- 
age of  Baker's  chocolate,  home  again,  and  then 
up  the  hill  to  the  school-house.  Mr.  Peterson 
was  just  ringing  the  bell  when  he  entered,  and 
Archer  sank,  breathless  and  irritated,  into  his 
seat. 

He  tried  to  coax   some   help    from   Barnard 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  363 

Simeral,  as  they  walked  home  together  that 
afternoon.  He  offered  him  the  position  of  as- 
sociate editor — not  for  the  first  time,  by  any 
means — but  the  magnificent  offer  was  firmly  de- 
clined. 

"I  haven't  got  half  your  brains — you  know 
that;  and  I  should  n't  be  any  help  at  all." 

"Yes,  you  would.  Do  come,  Barn.  It  would 
be  jolly  to  run  the  thing  together.  There 
would  n't  be  any  trouble  filling  up  if  we  had 
two  editors." 

"Honestly,  Craig,  I  'd  do  more  for  you  than 
for  any  other  fellow  I  know ;  but  if  there 's  a  thing 
I  hate,  it 's  writing,"  and  Barnard  made  a  wry 
face. 

The  sight  of  the  frozen  stream  below,  glint- 
ing in  the  pale  sunlight,  changed  the  current  of 
his  thoughts. 

"  There 's  first-rate  skating  on  the  creek, 
down  near  the  river.  Let 's  run  home  and  get 
our  skates." 

Archer  smiled  sadly. 

"  No  fun  for  me  till  the  Rural  Journal  is 
written,  and  that  it  won't  be  till  nearly  dinner- 
time— nor  then  either,  if  I  do  n't  get  at  it  in  a 
hurry." 

"  Bother  your  paper !  You  need  n't  write  it 
at  all,  if  you  do  n't  choose." 

"  Well,  maybe   I   need  n't,"  rejoined  Archer, 


364  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

straightening  himself,  with  an  air  of  manly  dig- 
nity, "but  when  I  do  choose  to  do  a  thing,  I'm 
not  going  to  drop  it  just  because  I  want  to  have 
a  good  time." 

"  Hurrah  for  Arch  !"  shouted  Ernest,  moved 
with  admiration.  Barnard  took  off  his  hat,  and 
joined  in  the  cheering ;  then,  as  they  were  now 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  said: 

"  Well,  good-bye,  fellows  ;  I  '11  see  what  the 
ice  is  like.  You  coming,  Era?" 

"  Skate-strap  's  broken.     Good-bye." 

"Barn's  a  first-class  fellow,"  remarked 
Archer,  as  the  brothers  walked  along  together; 
"but  I  wish  he  was  just  a  little  more  intellect- 
ual. Ernest,  where  is  your  story?" 

"  Lost  in  the  snow,"  answered  Ernest,  poet- 
ically. "Not  here;  it  isn't  deep  enough.  Guess 
it  must  be  at  the  north  pole." 

"  You  mean  you  have  n't  any,"  said  Archer, 
looking  grim.  "  Well,  do  you  know  what  a  fix 
I'm  in?  'Most  two  o'clock,  not  one  page  of 
the  Journal  finished,  and  only  copy  enough  for 
one  page  more." 

"  Maybe  Blanche  will  give  you  something." 

Ernest  rather  wished  she  would,  but  he  did 
not  greatly  care.  He  looked  upon  the  Rural 
Journal  as  a  needless  luxury. 

But  when  Blanche  was  appealed  to,  she 
shook  her  head. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  365 

"  No,  indeed !  When  have  I  had  time  to 
write  anything?  I  owe  half  a  dozen  letters, 
child.  Are  you  aware  that  it  is  less  than  a  week 
until  Christmas  ?" 

"You  said  you  'd  give  me  something  for  this 
number,"  returned  Archer,  scowling. 

"I  said  I  would  try  to,  my  friend.  So  I  did, 
but  I  could  n't  find  time.  Do  n't  have  way  Jour- 
nal this  week.  Now,  that  is  a  good  idea.  Take 
a  vacation  during  the  holidays." 

"Nice  ideas  of  business  you  have,"  said  the 
editor,  walking  away  in  disgust. 

As  soon  as  he  began  to  copy  Gertie's  story, 
a  new  trouble  arose.  She  knew  how  to  spell  as 
well  as  he  did.  The  orthography  of  her  tale 
was  perfect,  except  when  the  name  of  her  hero- 
ine was  mentioned.  Did  she  intend  it  to  be 
written  J-e-s-s-i-e,  or  J-e-s-s-y  ?  The  impar- 
tiality with  which  she  used  these  two  forms 
was  surprising.  Although  by  this  time  Archer's 
head  was  aching,  and  his  life  seemed  darkened 
by  the  shadow  of  an  editorial  chair,  he  felt  that 
his  duty  toward  the  chief  of  his  staff  required 
that  he  should  ask  her  how  "  noble  Jessie  Nor- 
ton "  spelled  her  name. 

"  Both  ways,"  answered  Gertie,  calmly.  She 
was  standing  on  a  chair  before  the  book-case, 
with  the  glass  doors  spread  out  beside  her  like 
wings.  "  I  saw  it  spelled  both  ways  in  a  story 


366  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

I  read  once,  and  I  think  it  makes  a  nice  variety. 
If  I  could,  I  'd  have  it  another  way  still ;  but 
there  is  n't  any  that  I  know  of,  except  J-e-s-s-e, 
and  the  people  might  think  that  was  a  boy." 

"  I  can't  have  it  spelled  more  than  one  way 
in  my  paper,"  declared  the  editor,  with  a  reso- 
lute countenance. 

Kind  and  considerate  as  he  wished  to  be, 
there  were  times  when  his  authority  must  be 
exercised.  Gertie  was  disappointed,  but  she 
took  his  interference  in  good  part ;  and  even 
said,  when  he  mentioned  the  desperate  condi- 
tion of  journalism,  that  she  would  be  very  glad 
to  help  him  if  she  could. 

"  Well,  but  we  must  n't  have  two  stories  to- 
gether by  the  same  person,"  he  said,  doubtfully. 

"  O,  I  Ml  write  a  letter  and  sign  an  assumed 
name,  Arch — what  do  you  say  ?"  cried  Gertie, 
with  sparkling  eyes.  "  I  know  just  how  to  do 
it,  for  I  Ve  often  read  them.  I  must  say  your 
paper  is  ever  so  much  better  than  the  others, 
and  I  lend  it  to  all  my  neighbors,  and  here  's 
money  to  send  copies  to  poor  people.  Shall  I  ? 
I  '11  make  it  as  long  as  ever  I  can." 

"Just  the  thing!"  replied  Archer,  delighted. 

This  friend  in  need  was  allowed  to  draw  her 
chair  up  to  one  end  of  the  editor's  own  table, 
and  there  she  wrote  two  complimentary  letters, 
signing  one  Sarah  Stella  Snowball,  and  the 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  367 

other  Winifred  Wentworth.  Then  she  went 
away  with  Hilda,  who  was  going  to  take  her 
music-lesson,  and  the  editor's  thanks  were  show- 
ered upon  her  as  she  left. 

All  the  time  that  the  girls  were  absent,  he 
worked  with  unremitting  diligence,  scarcely 
lifting  his  eyes  from  his  paper.  No  one  came 
to  disturb  him,  for  all  were  too  busy.  Gertie's 
letters  were  so  long  that  they  almost  filled  the 
third  page,  and  he  followed  them  with  an  ex- 
hortation to  the  public : 

"  Subscribe  for  the  Rural  Journal,  or  consider 
yourself  a  blighted  being." 

There  was  still  some  blank  space,  and  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  put  in  it.  The  voices  of  Ger- 
tie and  Hilda  sounded  below,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  not  yet  called  upon  the  latter 
for  assistance.  His  opinion  of  her  gifts  as  a 
writer  was  not  high  ;  but  of  one  thing  he  felt 
pretty  certain — she  was  not  likely  to  refuse  to 
oblige  him.  . 

So  he  waited,  like  a  tired  spider,  until  the 
fly  came  within  his  easy  reach.  She  appeared 
around  the  bend  of  the  staircase,  her  hat  in 
her  hand,  and  her  long,  unfastened  cloak  flap- 
ping negligently  about  her  ankles.  Her  music- 
lesson  had  not  encouraged  either  herself  or  Miss 
Madison ;  and  Hilda  was  thinking  that  every- 
thing seemed  to  go  wrong.  Of  course,  she  was 


368  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

unhappy  about  Gilbertina  ;  but  why  could  n't 
she  be  so  happy  about  something  else  that  she 
would  forget  her  miserable  secret? 

"  Hilda,  I  want  you,"  said  Archer,  peremp- 
torily. "  You  must  give  me  a  story  for  the 
paper,  right  away." 

"  O,  Archer,  I  can  't !" 

It  was  a  dismayed  little  face  which  looked  at 
him  from  its  frame  of  tangled  ringlets. 

"  Nonsense !  You  can  make  one  up  in  a 
minute.  I  hear  you  telling  Gertie  long  strings 
of  stuff." 

"  But  it  takes  me  so  long  to  write  it,"  she 
pleaded. 

"  Well,  returned  her  brother,  thoughtfully, 
"  suppose  we  do  it  a  new  way.  If  you  '11  sit 
down  and  tell  me  the  story,  I  '11  write  it  in  the 
paper  just  as  you  tell  it.  That  will  save  us  both 
trouble,  and  save  time  too.  It 's  getting  very 
late." 

Hilda  sighed,  but  felt  that  no  further  ob- 
jection could  be  offered.  She  must  have  time 
to  put  away  her  wraps ;  and  Archer  busied 
himself  with  lighting  the  lamp  and  pulling 
down  the  blind ;  for  it  was  five  o'clock,  and  the 
day,  despite  its  cloudlessness,  was  growing 
dim. 

The  journalistic  pen  had  been  clasped  some 
minutes  by  the  scribe's  inky  fingers  before  any 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  369 

inspiration  entered  the  brain  of  the  curly- 
headed  author. 

"  Hurry  up,  please,"  he  mildly  suggested, 
opening  his  arithmetic,  and  drawing  elegantly- 
shaded  lines  of  beauty  upon  the  fly-leaf. 

"Well,"  said  Hilda,  desperately,  "don't  you 
think  it  would  be  nice  for  it  to  begin  with 
talking?" 

"Yes;  all  right." 

"  'Come  on,  sister,  come  on,  said  I,  throwing 
down  the  toys.'  That 's  the  way  it  begins," 
explained  Hilda.  "  It 's  a  little  boy  that  says  it." 

"O,  but  we  must  put  the  name  of  the  story 
first.  I  nearly  forgot  that,  and  how  it  would 
have  looked.  Give  me  the  name,  Hilda,  as 
quick  as  you  can." 

"Will  'Sister  and  I'  do?" 

"  First  rate."  Archer  began  to  write,  pro- 
nouncing each  word  as  he  put  it  down,  and 
drawling,  because  his  tongue  could  move  faster 
than  his  pen.  "'Sister  and  I,  by  Hilda  Bar- 
rett Craig.'  Now  you  say  over  again  what  you 
did  say." 

Hilda  obeyed.  Then  followed  a  pause  so 
long  that  he  shook  his  pen  in  her  face,  and  a 
drop  of  ink  fell  upon  one  of  his  neat  pages. 
Greatly  alarmed,  he  seized  a  piece  of  blotting- 
paper. 

"  When  it 's  dry,  I  guess  may  be,  I  can 
24 


370  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

scratch   it  clean,"  he  said,  hopefully.     "  Hurry 
up,  Hilda ;  I  've  got  ever  so  little  time." 

"Let  —  me — see.  O  yes.  'Where?'  said 
she." 

This  was  written  with  increased  rapidity, 
and  another  and  more  painful  pause  ensued. 
Hilda  gazed  steadily  at  the  ceiling,  as  if  she  ex- 
pected to  find  a  thrilling  tale  written  there. 

"Are  you  going  on,  or  not?"  demanded  her 
brother,  whose  patience  was  nearly  exhausted. 

"Archer,"  said  Hilda,  solemnly,  letting  her 
eyes  leave  the  ceiling  to  look  hopelessly  into 
his  face,  "  I  can  't  think  of  another  thing  to  say." 

The  boy  felt  that  he  was  losing  his  temper, 
and  he  wished  very  much  to  keep  it.  His  little 
sister  looked  so  timid  and  helpless,  crouched  in 
the  big  arm-chair  at  his  elbow  ;  and  her  soft, 
gray  eyes  were  so  wide  and  imploring. 

"  But,  Hilda  Craig,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an 
emphasis  which  made  her  jump,  "  I  can  't  leave 
it  that  way.  That  is  no  story  at  all." 

"You  can  say,  'To  be  continued,'  "  suggested 
the  culprit,  faintly. 

"Not  such  a  tiny  speck  of  a  thing  as  that. 
Do  try  and  think,  Hilda ;  there  's  a  good  girl," 
he  coaxed.  « 

"O  Archer,  I  don't  know  a  bit  more,"  she 
wailed.  "  If  you  '11  just  let  it  go,  I  think  I  can 
finish  it  for  next  week.  I  'm  'most  sure  I  can." 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  371 

In  despair,  Archer  wrote  "  To  be  continued  " 
at  the  close  of  this  very  brief  installment  of  a 
tale ;  then  angrily  threw  the  unfinished  journal 
aside,  and  stood  up. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  fill  up  with  some  jokes,  but 
I  '11  have  to  go  and  hunt  the  oldest  paper  there 
is,  or  people  will  know  where  they  come  from. 
Expect  they  will  anyhow.  O,  I  never,  never 
will  put  anything  of  yours  in  the  paper  again, 
Hilda  Craig,  unless  you  write  it  all  out  first. 
The  Rural  Journal  is  just  spoiled  this  week, 
and  I  think  you  ought  to  be  sorry." 

Hilda  was  sorry.  It  did  not  seem  to  her 
that  anybody  in  the  whole  wide  world  could 
possibly  be  so  unhappy  as  she.  Archer  made 
more  noise  than  was  absolutely  necessary  as  he 
tramped  away.  He  was  much  provoked,  and 
thought  he  had  reason  to  be  so ;  yet  he  was 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  tried  to  choke  down 
his  angry  feelings.  The  victory  was  not  won 
immediately.  Jokes  were  hard  to  find.  It  was 
cold  in  the  room  where  the  papers  were  stored, 
and  he  was  tired  with  so  much  writing. 

The  poor  little  cause  of  all  this  trouble  shut 
herself  into  the  guest-chamber,  and  stood  by  the 
window  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  distant 
currant-bushes.  She  did  not  care  a  bit  about 
the  roast  turkey  they  were  going  to  have  for 
dinner,  nor  whether  she  had  any  dinner  at  all. 


372  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

She  was  not  glad  that  next  Wednesday  would 
be  Christmas-day.  It  was  not  worth  while  to 
go  down-stairs  that  evening,  nor  to  go  to  bed 
that  night.  She  had  half  a  mind  to  sit  down  in 
the  arm-chair,  and  stay  there  all  night — perhaps 
a  great  deal  longer. 

"But  I  do  n't  want  Archer  to  be  mad  at  me," 
she  found  herself  saying  aloud.  Then  she  be- 
gan to  cry,  and  cried  until  she  grew  cold,  and 
had  to  go  to  the  fire  to  get  warm.  By  this  time 
she  remembered  Gertie,  and  was  perfectly  sure 
what  she  was  doing.  She  was  working  hard  to 
finish  her  Christmas  gifts. 

Hilda  was  not  making  any.  It  was  easier  to 
buy  them.  Mamma  bought  a  good  many  for 
her  to  give,  and  helped  her  to  select  the  others. 
Even  the  book-mark  was  still  unfinished.  She 
had  forgotten  it  until  she  happened  to  find  it  in 
her  portfolio  that  morning. 

Now  a  sudden  thought  flashed  into  her  mind, 
bringing  with  it  a  gleam  of  hope.  Suppose  she 
finished  the  book-mark,  and  gave  it  to  Archer. 
It  would  not  take  so  very  long,  and  perhaps  he 
would  be  pleased  and  forgive  her. 

"I  '11  get  it!"  she  cried,  her  face  bright  with 
eagerness.  "Then  I  can  go  and  sew  where 
Gertie  is." 

Blanche  and  Gertie  and  Esther  Madison 
were  all  in  Blanche's  room.  They  were  grouped 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  373 

about  a  table  which  was  drawn  near  to  the  fire, 
and  the  table  was  heaped  with  silk  and  paste- 
board and  gold  and  silver  thread. 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  Hilda. 

"O  yes,"  answered  Blanche.  "You  won't 
tell  what  you  see,  I  'in  sure.  But  is  it  possible? 
Are  you  going  to  sew?" 

"I'm  going  to  finish  my  book-mark,"  ex- 
plained Hilda,  drawing  up  a  chair. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  said  Gertie, 
with  a  welcoming  kiss.  "The  only  thing  I 
have  n't  liked  about  making  Christmas  gifts  is 
that  it  kept  me  away  from  you." 

"If  Hilda  had  been  like  any  other  girl,  she 
would  have  wanted  you  to  teach  her  how  to 
make  things,"  grumbled  Blanche.  "Such  nice 
presents  as  you  have  made!  She  can't  make 
anything.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, Hilda.  Tell  her  about  the  little  girls  that 
you  saw  when  you  were  in  Germany,  Esther." 

"They  learn  to  knit  and  sew  very  early," 
Esther  said.  "There  was  one  at  the  place 
where  I  boarded  that  was  only  four  years  old, 
and  she  had  knit  herself  a  pair  of  stockings. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"I  think  she  would  ruin  her  eyes  forever," 
murmured  Gertie,  abstractedly,  her  own  trouble- 
some eyes  fastened  closely  upon  a  bit  of  work 
which  required  careful  attention. 


374  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Esther  laughed. 

"She  looked  so  cunning  at  her  work!  She 
would  hold  up  her  stocking  every  now  and  then 
to  ask  me  if  it  looked  any  longer." 

"She  did  n't  talk  plain,  did  she?" 

"No,  not  quite." 

"Miss  Esther,"  said  Hilda,  gazing  sorrow- 
fully at  a  drop  of  blood  upon  her  finger,  which 
a  needle-prick  had  caused,  "won't  you  please 
tell  us  just  the  way  she  said  it?" 

"My  dear  child,  she  spoke  in  German." 

"Yes,  and  Miss  Esther  can't  talk  baby  Ger- 
man, of  course,  Hilda,"  said  Gertie. 

The  company  was  so  pleasant  and  diligent 
that  Hilda  soon  found  herself  working  away 
with  more  ease  than  she  had  supposed  possible. 
The  dinner-bell  interrupted  them  soon,  but  they 
returned  when  dinner  was  over.  The  last  stitch 
in  the  book-mark  was  taken  just  as  Blanche 
yawned,  and  said  that  she  would  not  sew  any 
more  that  evening. 

"  And  you  must  n't  either,  Gertie.  Let  me 
look  at  your  eyes.  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
child?  They  're  full  of  mist." 

"  They  do  n't  see  as  well  when  I  look  at  you 
as  when  I  look  at  my  work,"  returned  Gertie. 

But  Esther  now  proposed  that  they  should 
go  down  to  the  parlor,  and  sing  all  the  Christmas 
songs  they  could  find. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  EDITOR.  375 

"I  '11  come  down  in  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Hilda,  slipping  away  as  fast  as  possible,  for 
fear  some  one  should  ask  her  where  she  was 

going- 
Archer  had  forgotten  that  he  had  any  ground 
for  complaint  against  his  little  sister.  The 
Rural  Journal  was  in  its  accustomed  place  be- 
fore dinner,  and  he  felt  so  gay  and  lively  that 
he  had  a  race  around  the  house  with  Ernest 
and  Fred.  He  was  in  his  own  room,  looking 
at  the  list  of  names  which  represented  the 
number  of  Christmas  presents  he  had  to  buy, 
when  something  touched  him  on  his  shoulder. 
It  was  Hilda's  soft,  little  hand,  and  Hilda's  sor- 
rowful eyes  looked  into  his  as  he  raised  his  head. 
"  I  made  this  for  you,  Archer,"  said  she, 
putting  the  book-mark  into  his  hand. 

"Did  you?  Thank  you  ever  so  much." 
Then  he  noticed  that  she  was  almost  at  the 
door.  "Why,  come  back,  Hilda!  What's  the 
matter?  Did  you  make  it  all  yourself?" 
"Yes;  I  'm  sorry  I  was  so  bad." 
There  came  a  great  sob.  Not  till  then  did 
the  boy  remember  that  the  last  time  he  spoke 
to  her  he  had  been  very  angry.  He  sprang 
from  his  chair  and  ran  to  her,  to  keep  her  from 
going  away.  Poor  Hilda  was  crying,  and  he 
felt  so  badly  that  he  was  afraid  he  might  cry 
himself. 


376  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"You  're  a  dear,  sweet  little  sister!  I  'm  a 
reprobate!  This  is  the  nicest  book-mark  I  ever 
had.  It 's  in  different  colors,  is  n't  it?"  he  added, 
admiringly. 

"All  one  color,  going  off  into  shades.  There 
are  a  good  many  blends  to  it,"  answered  Hilda, 
drying  her  eyes. 

"I  LOVE  YOU,"  were  the  golden-red  words 
that  stared  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  brother  and 
sister.  They  were  not  perfectly  made,  in  two 
or  three  places  a  stitch  had  been  skipped,  and 
loose  ends  of  zephyr  stuck  up  here  and  there ; 
but  their  message  was  plain.  The  two  chil- 
dren put  their  arms  around  each  other,  and 
stood  thus  for  a  whole  silent  minute. 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL. 

THE   school   entertainment   which    Professor 
Clavel   had  proposed  was  indefinitely  post- 
poned.     He  was  going   to  spend   Christmas  in 
New  Orleans. 

"  He  does  n't  have  it  just  because  he  does  n't 
choose,"  said  Helen  Bland.  "  That 's  the  way 
grown  people  act ;  but  when  children  act  so, 
they  scold." 

Adela  Williams  said  that  Helen  was  "mad" 
at  the  professor.  She  had  asked  him  to  teach 
her  to  write  back-hand,  and  he  had  said,  "Only 
grocers  write  back-hand."  Helen  had  immedi- 
ately informed  him  that  he  was  mistaken.  Her 
cousin  Cecil  wrote  the  most  beautiful  back-hand 
she  had  ever  seen,  and  he  was  studying  law. 
Professor  Clavel  paid  no  attention  to  this  bit  of 
information,  but  Mr.  Peterson  looked  up  and  said : 

"Attend  to  your  writing,  Helen." 

377 


A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 


When  Hilda  heard  that  the  entertainment 
was  not  to  be,  she  thought  :  "  If  I  had  known 
that,  I  would  n't  have  lost  Gilbertina."  It  was 
odd  that  she  always  called  the  doll  lost  when  she 
spoke  of  it  to  herself.  She  knew  exactly  where 
Gilbertina  was.  Nobody  had  been  near  the  spot 
except  Hilda  herself,  who  had  two  or  three 
times  gone  close  enough  to  see  the  corner  of  the 
newspaper  and  wish  that  she  had  covered  it  all. 

The  last  day  of  school  looked  down  on  Haw- 
thorn with  a  gray  veil  drawn  over  its  face. 
When  Blanche  opened  the  window,  a  few  little 
round  snowflakes  rushed  in,  as  if  they  had  been 
cold  outside.  The  snow  continued  to  fall  until 
Gertie  and  Hilda  were  ready  to  start  to  school. 
Then  it  became  a  storm.  Great,  soft  flakes  hur- 
ried down  ;  and  others  of  lesser  size,  some  so 
small  that  they  could  scarcely  be  seen,  crowded 
along  with  them,  and  filled  the  air.  Blanche 
was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  her  mother's  room, 
looking  very  comfortable  in  her  tea-gown  and 
slippers,  and  it  really  did  seem  to  her  a  pity 
that  anybody  had  to  go  out  in  such  weather. 
Her  school  had  closed  two  days  before. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "  do  n't  you  think  the 
children  had  better  stay  at  home  to-day  ?  The 
last  day  of  school  is  n't  of  any  account.  Their 
examinations  are  nearly  all  over." 

Gertie  stopped  buttoning  her  coat,  and  stared 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  379 

at  the  speaker,  her  eyes  growing  wide  with  dis- 
may ;  and  Hilda  felt  as  if  she  were  going  to 
cry.  Is  n't  the  last  day  of  school  of  any  ac- 
count? What  if  you  are  going  to  give  your 
teacher  a  present?  Blanche  had  forgotten  the 
important  donation,  but  Mrs.  Craig  had  not. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  like  the  walk  all 
the  better  for  the  snow ;  and  of  course  they 
want  to  see  how  Mr.  Peterson  likes  his  chair." 

She  was  quite  right  in  thinking  that  the 
snow  would  add  to  the  pleasure  of  the  walk.  It 
made  everything  look  fresh  and  distant  and 
beautiful.  The  blackest  roofs  in  the  village 
were  seizing  the  fleecy  whiteness,  and  slowly 
patching  for  themselves  pure  and  spotless  robes- 

The  cousins  were  half-way  up  the  hill  when 
screams  of  laughter  began  to  float  down  to  them, 
growing  louder  each  moment.  Then  several 
whirling  figures  came  into  sight,  rushing  down 
the  rough,  narrow  road  at  a  rate  of  speed  which 
was  really  alarming.  Their  many  wraps,  and 
the  ceaseless  fall  of  snow,  prevented  Gertie  and 
Hilda  from  recognizing  their  schoolmates  until 
they  were  all  around  them,  talking  as  fast  as 
their  gasping  breath  would  permit. 

u  O,  why  didn't  you  come  sooner?"  asked 
Helen,  seizing  Hilda's  arm.  "  It 's  'most  time 
for  school  to  begin,  and  you  've  lost  all  the  fun. 
Everybody  's  there,  and  so  's  Mr.  Peterson  ;  and 


380  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Arch  said  his  speech  to  us  all  before  he  came. 
Doesn't  he  do  it  splendid?" 

"  Yes  ;  we  've  heard  it  lots  of  times,"  replied 
Hilda. 

What  a  pity  that  they  had  not  come  sooner, 
when  they  could  just  as  well  as  not ! 

The  school-room  was  delightfully  warm  and 
cheerful.  The  heat  of  the  fire  had  given  Mr. 
Peterson's  cheeks  an  unwonted  color,  and  his 
smile  was  brighter  than  usual.  He  was  not  sit- 
ting at  his  desk,  but  standing  beside  the  win- 
dow with  a  group  of  boys,  among  whom  was 
neither  Barnard  Simeral  nor  Archer  Craig. 
These  two,  supposed  to  be  the  teacher's  favor- 
ites, were  whispering  together  in  a  remote  cor- 
ner of  the  room. 

"  Helen,  O  Helen,"  whispered  Cecie  Phillips, 
as  the  girls  were  hanging  up  their  hoods,  "  do 
look  at  the  blackboard." 

Helen  looked,  and  immediately  every  one 
else  in  the  room  looked  at  her  ;  for  such  a  shriek 
of  laughter  came  from  her  mouth  as  only  Helen 
was  ever  known  to  give.  The  eyes  of  the  other 
girls  turned  at  once  to  the  blackboard,  at  which 
she  was  staring  with  her  face  dimpled  and  puck- 
ered with  merriment.  This  is  what  they  saw, 
written  in  an  irregular,  boyish  hand  which  was 
not  hard  to  recognize  : 

"  H.  Bland,  Dealer  in  Groceries  and  Provis- 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  381 

ions.  Call  and  examine  our  stock  before  pur- 
chasing elsewhere." 

"  Well,  I  declare  !"  began  Adela  Williams, 
loudly.  "What  will  that -Fred  Tomlinson  be  up 
to  next?  He  's  the  worst — " 

"  Boy  in  the  township,"  is  what  she  was 
going  to  say.  That  expression  was  frequently 
heard.  Adela  and  Annie  Tomlinson  were  not 
on  good  terms.  A  coolness  had  arisen  between 
them  because  Annie  had  said  that  the  plume  in 
Adela's  best  hat  looked  like  a  turkey's  wing ; 
and  it  was  for  Annie's  ears  that  the  remark 
about  her  brother  was  intended.  But  it  was 
never  finished.  Helen's  plump  little  hand  fell 
suddenly  upon  Adela's  lips,  pressing  them  to- 
gether with  a  firmness  which  displayed  consid- 
erable muscular  strength. 

"Hush,  Adela,  that's  a  love.  I'm  afraid 
Mr.  Peterson  will  hear." 

"Well,  what  if  he  does?"  inquired  Adela, 
in  mufned  accents,  trying  to  push  away  the  hand. 

"I'm  afraid  he'll  rub  it  off,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to.  I  think  it  is  just  too  cunning  for 
anything.  Do  n't  look  at  the  board,  girls." 

And  Helen  turned  away,  humming,  with  a 
glance  at  her  teacher  which  would  have  awak- 
ened suspicion  in  a  more  suspicious  nature.  It 
was  really  wonderful  how  seldom  Mr.  Peterson 
suspected  anything.  He  had  not  noticed  the 


382  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

handwriting  on  the  board,  notwithstanding  the 
enormous  quantity  of  white  chalk  which  had 
been  expended  thereupon. 

Going  to  her  seat  at  the  tinkle  of  the  bell, 
Helen  bestowed  upon  Fred  a  nod  and  a  beam- 
ing smile.  He  got  out  his  copy-book,  tore  out 
a  page,  and  scribbled  a  note.  This  he  handed  to 
Cecie,  making  signs  that  it  was  to  be  passed  to 
Helen.  When  Helen  had  opened  it,  she  read  as 
follows : 

"  F.  Tomlinson,  Sign  Painter.  No  charge 
for  work  on  the  last  day  of  school." 

This  delighted  Helen  almost  as  much  as  the 
announcement  upon  the  blackboard.  It  was 
no  use  trying  to  tease  such  a  girl. 

The  discipline  which  Mr.  Peterson  main- 
tained was  at  no  time  very  robust ;  this  morn- 
ing it  faded  away  until  it  made  no  pretense  of 
existing.  The  scholars  whispered  to  each  other, 
and  wrote  conversations  upon  gritty  slates  with 
squeaking  pencils,  directly  under  his  spectacled 
gaze.  There  are  some  people  who,  no  matter 
how  sad  and  careworn  the  heavy  years  have 
made  them,  never  draw  near  the  blessed  Christ- 
mas-time without  feeling  like  one  of  the  little 
ones  whom  the  season  makes  wild  with  joy. 
Mr.  Peterson  had  this  feeling ;  and  it  is  better 
to  have  it  than  to  be  among  those  whom  the 
world  calls  successful. 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  383 

School  was  dismissed  at  twelve  o'clock ;  but 
there  was  not  as  usual  an  unmannerly  rush  for 
hats.  Two  of  the  scholars  arose,  and  walked 
bareheaded  to  the  door.  Something  had  been 
placed  outside  by  somebody  who  had  come  and 
gone  unseen.  A  jolting  and  banging  ensued, 
and  then  a  large  white  object  was  assisted  over 
the  threshold.  Once  upon  the  level,  it  glided 
smoothly  up  the  aisle,  propelled  by  two  radiant, 
red-faced  boys.  The  white  mantle  which  gave 
the  object  so  strange  an  appearance  was  a  sheet, 
lent  by  the  neighbor  under  whose  roof  it  had 
spent  the  last  two  days. 

Long  before  this  ungainly  apparition  paused 
in  front  of  his  desk,  Mr.  Peterson  could  not 
help  knowing  that  it  was  a  gift  to  him  ;  and 
he  was  pretty  certain  what  sort  of  a  gift  it 
was.  But  up  to  the  moment  when  he  rang 
the  bell  for  dismissal  he  had  not  the  slightest 
expectation  of  being  thus  remembered.  This, 
of  course,  only  goes  to  show  what  a  queer,  un- 
observant person  he  was.  Another  man  would 
have  known  all  about  it  a  week  before,  so  nu- 
merous were  the  hints  thrown  out,  and  so  many 
the  remarks  not  intended  for  his  hearing,  which 
came,  nevertheless,  within  its  range.  No  one 
knew  better  than  he  that  his  school  was  not 
a  success.  To  no  one  did  his  imperfections  as 
a  teacher  appear  more  glaring  than  to  himself. 


384  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

The  boys  paused  before  him,  on  either  side 
of  their  veiled  companion,  each  with  a  hand 
laid  upon  it.  Both  fixed  their  gaze  upon  their 
teacher's  face,  while  Archer  began  to  make  the 
presentation  speech.  Now,  whether  it  was  the 
rapid  beating  of  their  hearts  which  made  their 
eyes  dim,  or  whether  it  was  the  look  on  the 
faded,  many-lined  countenance  bending  above 
them — so  patient  and  quiet  it  was  ! — the  mist 
through  which  Mr.  Peterson  was  looking  began 
to  hang  over  them.  They  dropped  their  eyes, 
and,  when  they  raised  them  again,  his  ex- 
pression had  changed ;  it  was  no  less  tender, 
but  it  was  very  bright.  Then  they  could  see 
plainly  once  more.  Archer  finished  his  little 
speech,  and,  in  behalf  of  the  school,  made  the 
teacher  a  present  of  an  easy-chair. 

A  few  hours  before,  Adela  Williams  had 
asked,  "What  will  that  Fred  Tomlinson  be  up 
to  next?"  As  the  white  covering  was  with- 
drawn from  the  chair,  her  question  was  an- 
swered. Upon  the  cushioned  back  appeared  a 
large  pink  card,  and  on  this  was  painted  in  water- 
colors  the  copy  of  a  well-known  business  adver- 
tisement, "  Softer  seats  than  this  at  J.  G. 
Schermerhorn's,  75  Fifth  Street." 

Archer  and  Barnard  were  very  angry  at 
first ;  but  Mr.  Peterson  looked  so  merry  and 
happy  that  their  wrath  soon  died  away.  He 


THE  LAST  DA  Y  OF  SCHOOL.  385 

replied  to  the  presentation  speech  in  a  truly 
eloquent  manner,  and  ended  by  asking  all  of 
his  pupils  to  come  forward  and  shake  hands. 
They  were  all  about  him  in  a  moment.  Every- 
body enjoyed  being  thanked  for  his  share  in  the 
present.  Not  a  few  thought  Mr.  Peterson  a 
very  fine  man  after  all,  and  hoped  that  their 
parents  would  not  send  them  to  another  school 
next  year. 

Such  happy  half-hours  do  not  pass  by  and 
leave  no  trace  behind. 

Mr.  Peterson  was  often  grave  and  sad  after 
this;  but  the  brightness  of  look  and  manner 
would  occasionally  return,  making  the  teacher 
and  pupils  again  feel  that  they  were  intimate 
friends.  It  was  Archer  Craig  who  received  the 
warmest  clasp  of  his  hand,  and  who  looked 
deepest  into  his  eyes.  The  friendship  between 
the  man  and  the  boy  was  a  blessing  to  both. 

UO— O— O!"  cried  Helen,  as  she  started 
down  the  hill.  "  I  do  n't  want  to  go  home 
the  least  bit."  She  was  in  such  a  state  of  ex- 
citement that  she  had  to  scream.  "  I  do  n't 
want  to  do  anything  but  stay  with  you  girls 
and  talk  about  Christmas." 

"Don't  you  want  your  luncheon?"  Gertie 
asked.  "Giving  Mr.  Peterson  a  chair  has  made 
me  terribly  hungry." 

On  second  thought  Helen  decided  that  she 
25 


386  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

wanted  something  to  eat  more  than  she  wanted 
anything  else,  and  Hilda  and  Annie  both  felt 
the  pangs  of  hunger.  So  they  went  their  differ- 
ent ways,  so  fast  that  the  chill  breezes  gave  up 
the  attempt  to  chill  them,  and  fanned  them  till 
their  pulses  leaped  and  the  blood  ran  warm 
through  their  veins. 

Gertie  and  Hilda  had  just  finished  luncheon 
when  Annie  Tgmlinson  paid  them  a  visit. 
They  took  her  at  once  to  their  playroom. 
This  was  a  tiny  apartment;  but  it  had  two 
windows,  and  was  full  of  pretty  things.  In  one 
corner  was  a  beautiful  set  of  book-shelves,  at 
which  Annie  was  proudly  requested  to  look.  It 
was  quite  new,  having  been  bought  by  Uncle 
Gilbert  during  his  late  absence.  His  partiality 
for  his  little  niece  was  so  glaringly  displayed 
that  it  was  useless  to  make  excuses  for  it,  yet 
he  frequently  tried  to  do  so.  "She  's  the  young- 
est, you  know,"  he  would  say,  smiling  anxiously 
at  Ernest. 

"They  are  lovely,"  said  Annie,  "and  what  a 
lot  of  books  you  've  got!  But,  of  course,  they 
are  n't  all  yours." 

"Yes,  they  are,"  returned  Hilda,  grandly. 
"  Why,  this  is  n't  all  I  've  got — it 's  only  all  the 
shelves  will  hold.  There  's  more  in  the  dining- 
room.  How  many  books  have  you?" 

"O,  I  do  n't  know!     I  do  n't  read  every  day, 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  387 

like  you  girls.     I   had   Grimm's 'Fairy  Tales '- 
a  great  big  book — and  I  did  n't  get  a  chance  to 
read  it  through ;    but  I  liked  the  stories  ever  so 
much.     Have  you  got  it?" 

"Down-stairs.  Here's  Andersen's  'Fairy 
Tales,'  and  Miss  Mulock's,  and  '  Puss  Cat  Mew.' 
Why  could  n't  you  read  it  through,  when  it  was 
your  very  own  book?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  left  it  on  the  library  table, 
and  they  tore  the  leaves  out  to  light  the  gas." 

"Who  did?"  demanded  Gertie  and  Hilda  in 
concert. 

Annie  had  made  her  statement  calmly.  She 
saw  nothing  remarkable  in  it;  but  those  who 
heard  it  could  scarcely  believe  their  ears. 

"O,  papa  and  Ellen  and  everybody." 

"Your  nice  new  book!  O,  I  think  that  was 
awful!  Did  n't  you  feel  dreadfully?" 

But  Annie  was  tired  of  the  subject.  She 
answered,  "Yes,  of  course,"  and  sat  down  on 
the  floor  to  arrange  a  dissected  map.  That  was 
not  the  end  of  the  conversation,  however.  It 
was  abruptly  renewed  after  Annie  had  put  on 
her  hat  and  cloak,  and  was  waiting  for  Gertie  to 
see  what  time  it  was. 

"Hilda,"  she  said,  "will  you  lend  me  that 
black  fairy-book  of  yours?" 

If  somebody  had  pointed  a  pistol  at  Hilda's 
head,  and  threatened  to  shoot  her,  I  think  she 


388  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

could  scarcely  have  felt  more  dismay.  The 
book  referred  to  was  one  of  her  oldest  and  dear- 
est treasures,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Hilda  did  not  willingly  lend  any  of  her  books. 
She  handled  them  very  carefully  herself,  and 
had  seen  enough  to  know  that  most  of  her 
young  acquaintances  gave  books  rougher  treat- 
ment. Lend  her  "big  black  fairy-book"  to 
Annie  Tomlinson!  She  did  not  like  to  refuse, 
yet  she  could  not  bear  to  consent;  so  she  pre- 
tended that  she  had  not  heard  the  question. 

"Hilda,  will  you?"  repeated  Annie. 

She  had  the  volume  in  her  hand,  and  was 
gazing  with  deep  interest  at  the  picture  of  the 
"sleeping  beauty,"  with  the  "prince"  bending 
above  her.  Still  there  was  silence.  Hilda  had 
discovered  that  one  of  her  shoes  had  lost  a  but- 
ton, and  was  hard  at  work  pulling  out  the  ends 
of  thread  which  were  left  behind. 

"Hilda,"  said  Annie,  facing  about,  "why 
do  n't  you  answer  me?  I  know  you  hear." 

"O — I — what?"  replied  Hilda,  confusedly. 
"I  can't,  unless  mamma  says  so,  Annie.  I  '11  go 
and  ask  her." 

And  into  the  hall  she  went,  with  slow,  re- 
luctant steps.  Half-way  between  the  door  of 
the  room  and  the  head  of  the  staircase  she  met 
Gertie. 

"O  Gertie,"  she   cried,  seizing   her   cousin's 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  389 

arm,  "one   of  the   most  awful   things   has  hap- 
pened!" 

"What?"  asked  Gertie,  aghast. 

"Annie  Tomlinson  wants  to  borrow  my  big 
black  fairy-book.  Just  think  of  that!" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  the  matter  is,"  re- 
joined Gertie,  looking  at  her  rather  contemptu- 
ously. "You  've  read  it,  and  I  've  read  it,  and 
Ernest  has  read  it.  Who  has  n't  that  wants 
to?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Hilda,  letting  her 
arms  drop  at  her  side  with  a  crestfallen  air. 
"I  don't  know  that  anybody  hasn't.  But 
would  you  like  to  lend  her  one  of  your  books, 
Gertie  Winner,  when  you  know  how  she  'd 
treat  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  what  she  told  us  about  her. 
Grimm's  'Fairy  Tales,'"  and  Hilda  sat  down 
on  the  carpet  as  if  anxiety  had  exhausted  her 
strength. 

"O!"  Gertie  was  somewhat  troubled.  "But 
that  was  her  own  book,"  she  added,  with  reviv- 
ing cheerfulness.  "  Do  n't  you  always  take 
better  care  of  other  people's  things  than  your 
own?" 

"Yes;  but  I  don't  know  whether  Annie 
does,"  responded  the  still  hopeless  Hilda. 

Gertie  was  silent.     The  situation  was  a  per- 


39°  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

plexing  one,  and  she  bent  her  entire  brain  to  its 
consideration. 

"What  did  you  tell  her?"  she  asked  at 
length. 

"  I  said  I  'd  go  and  ask  mamma.  That 's 
where  I  'in  going  now." 

"Well,  maybe  your  mamma  won't  let  you 
lend  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  she  will,"  sighed  the  limp  lit- 
tle figure  at  Gertie's  feet. 

uGet  up,  Hilda!"  exclaimed  Gertie,  with  a 
flash  of  resolution.  "Go  and  ask  Aunt  Grace 
if  you  may  lend  Annie  your  fairy-book,  and 
while  you  're  gone  I  '11  tell  Annie  that  she  '11 
have  to  promise  to  take  good  care  of  it,  and  not 
leave  it  on  the  library  table." 

She  grasped  her  cousin's  arm  as  she  spoke, 
and  assisted  her  to  rise  by  means  of  a  vigorous 
pull.  They  went  their  way  in  opposite  direc- 
tions, and  when  Hilda  returned  to  the  play- 
room she  found  Gertie  and  Annie  standing 
silently  beside  the  window,  their  faces  very 
grave. 

"Does  Aunt  Grace  say  Annie  may  take  the 
book?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Hilda,  soberly,  looking 
hard  at  the  carpet,  because  she  did  not  want  to 
see  the  dingy  black  volume  in  Annie's  hands. 
She  remembered  that  those  hands  were  not  quite 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL.  391 

clean,  and  the  remembrance  was  hurting  her 
feelings  very  much. 

"Hilda,"  said  Annie,  earnestly,  " I  '11  take 
the  very,  very  best  care  of  it,  and  I  '11  bring  it 
back  as  soon  as  I  've  read  it  through." 

"And  you  won't  leave  it  on  the  library  table?" 
entreated  Hilda. 

"No,  indeed,  I  won't.  I  '11  put  it  away  in 
my  own  drawer.  You  needn't  be  a  bit  afraid; 
and  I  won't  keep  it  long,  because  now  I  '11  have 
such  a  great  deal  of  time  to  read." 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM. 

OF  course,  the  Craig  children  thought  the 
Christmas  holidays  the  pleasantest  season 
of  the  year.  Their  mother  thought  so,  too. 
She  was  as  happy  as  a  child  in  preparing  for 
Christmas-day — indeed,  she  was  happier;  for 
she  understood  better  than  her  children  did  how 
much  reason  there  is  to  be  glad. 

Accordingly  she  never  wearied  of  hearing 
them  talk  about  it,  of  helping  them  select  pres- 
ents for  each  other,  and  of  spending  hours  in 
going  about  with  them.  They  went,  not  only 
to  buy,  but  to  see  the  many  beautiful  things 
which  were  not  to  be  theirs,  but  were  to  brighten 
the  lives  of  others.  Her  children  will  never 
forget  how  happy  the  coming  of  Christmas  made 
their  mother. 

This  year  she  was  both  surprised*  and  sorry 

392 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  393 

to  see  how  little  interest  one  of  the  children 
took  in  the  holiday  preparations.  What  made 
it  more  surprising  was  that  this  one  was  the 
youngest  of  the  family — little  Hilda — who  had 
been  so  eager  and  delighted  at  every  Christmas 
time  since  she  had  learned  to  speak.  I  do  not 
mean  that  Hilda  never  wanted  to  talk  about  it, 
or  was  not  more  than  willing  to  make  shopping 
excursions  with  her  mother  and  Gertie;  only 
that  she  grew  listless  in  the  midst  of  the  excite- 
ment, and  complained  of  being  tired  when  her 
companions  felt  as  fresh  as  ever. 

Mr.  Craig  asked  his  wife  one  evening  if  she 
thought  Hilda  was  quite  well.  The  doubt  oc- 
curred to  him  because  he  noticed  how  little  the 
child  ate  at  dinner,  and  that  her  face  was  pale — 
paler  than  Gertie's,  who,  indeed,  was  so  alive 
with  anticipation  that  everything  about  her 
seemed  to  sparkle.  Mrs.  Craig  had  asked  her- 
self the  same  question  many  times  of  late. 
Hilda's  behavior  suggested  that  she  had  some- 
thing on  her  mind.  Her  mother  watched  her 
anxiously,  afraid  that  she  was  hiding  a  secret, 
but  unable  to  conjecture  what  it  could  be. 

It  was  a  secret  which  was  growing  every 
day  more  burdensome  and  painful.  Hilda  never 
went  near  the  currant-bushes  now.  Sometimes 
she  found  herself  wondering  what  Gilbertina 
looked  like — whether  the  rain  and  snow  had 


394  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

washed  away  all  likeness  to  herself.  She  was 
rather  inclined  to  hope  so;  because  then,  if  the 
doll  should  be  found,  she  might  escape  recog- 
nition. But  when  this  hope  had  begun  to  make 
her  more  cheerful,  she  remembered  how  dread- 
ful it  would  be  if  the  secret  were  never  found 
out,  and  she  never  had  the  courage  to  tell  it. 
Think  of  living  all  your  life  with  a  wicked  se- 
cret standing  between  you  and  your  mother! 

The  people  who  loved  her  best,  and  were 
most  careful  of  her  feelings,  soon  learned  that 
she  did  not  like  to  talk  about  Gilbertina,  and 
seldom  mentioned  the  doll's  name.  Blanche 
worried  a  good  deal  for  awhile.  She  had  been 
planning  some  pretty  things  for  Gilbertina  to  be 
among  Hilda's  Christmas  presents,  and  it  was 
hard  to  give  them  up.  But  for  the  last  few 
days  she  had  not  complained  at  all. 

Toward  evening  of  the  day  before  Christmas 
snow  began  to  fall,  and  it  continued  falling  far 
into  the  night.  The  family  under  Mr.  Craig's 
roof  were  astir  before  the  sun  rose,  wishing 
each  other  all  possible  gladness  in  low,  happy 
tones,  while  they  fastened  their  cloaks  and  drew 
on  their  gloves.  There  was  to  be  a  six-o'clock 
service  in  the  little  church  on  the  hill,  and  they 
were  all  going  thither. 

The  snow  was  deep  and  feathery,  and  lay 
smooth  and  untrodden  on  level  and  slope.  Mr. 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  395 

Craig  and  Archer  carried  lanterns.  Walking 
was  not  very  easy,  but  they  enjoyed  it  never- 
theless. 

UO,  I  am  so  happy,  happy,  happy!"  Gertie 
kept  saying  to  herself.  She  did  not  want  to 
speak;  but  she  wanted  to  look  at  every  one  of 
her  friends,  and  smile  upon  them  in  turn. 
When  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Craig's  face  she  saw 
that  her  aunt  was  smiling  at  her,  but  she  spoke 
no  word.  "She  feels  just  as  I  do,"  Gertie 
whispered. 

Hilda  thought  the  way  long.  She  was  tired 
and  discouraged  when  they  reached  the  church. 
O,  what  a  pity  that  any  weight  should  He  upon 
the  conscience,  to  keep  the  heart  from  bound- 
ing at  the  sound  of  Christmas  bells! 

Then  lights  gleamed  on  them  from  the 
church,  and  here  and  there  gleamed  lanterns 
through  the  peaceful  darkness.  The  service 
was  not  long,  but  it  was  full  of  praise ;  and  they 
who  entered  the  church  with  happy  hearts  went 
away  happier  still.  It  was  growing  light  when 
they  started  homeward.  A  thin  snow  was  still 
falling,  and  from  the  polished  gray  sky  poured 
suddenly  a  white  glory  of  sunshine. 

Before  nine  o'clock  Gertie's  father  arrived, 
having  taken  an  early  train  from  the  city. 
After  he  had  been  well  kissed  and  hugged  by 
his  jubilant  daughter,  he  went  into  the  library 


396  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

with  the  rest  of  the  grown  people.  The  young 
ones  waited  impatiently  until  the),  too,  should 
be  admitted. 

When  the  time  came,  they  saw  a  sight  worth 
seeing.  The  room  was  like  a  forest  bower. 
Festoons  of  ground-pine  waved  over  the  cur- 
tains and  drooped  about  the  pictures ;  branches 
of  spruce  filled  the  corners,  and  all  Mrs.  Craig's 
house-plants  stood  in  the  windows. 

The  center-table  was  gone  ;  in  its  place 
stood  the  Christmas  pie.  It  was  in  a  tub — the 
largest  to  be  found.  Brown  paper,  cut  to  imi- 
tate an  upper-crust,  covered  the  top,  and  a  curl- 
ing wreath  of  ground-pine  hid  the  rough  edges 
and  made  it  look  like  a  veritable  pie.  There 
were  a  good  many  presents  in  the  pie,  and  there 
were  also  a  good  many  outside,  as  was  signified 
by  various  unsightly  humps  covered  with  shawls. 
Ernest,  in  the  character  of  little  Jack  Horner, 
prepared  to  draw  out  and  distribute  the  plums. 

The  first  packet  bore  Gertie's  name.  It  was 
not  large,  but  it  was  very  precious ;  for  it  was  a 
letter  from  her  mother.  Several  other  parcels 
came  to  light  in  the  course  of  the  distribution, 
on  which  the  same  hand  had  traced  the  same 
name,  and  every  one  held  something  which  was 
exactly  what  Gertie  wanted. 

Everybody  had  been  several  times  remem- 
bered. The  air  was  full  of  rejoicings,  and  the 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  397 

floor  was  covered  with  paper  wrappings  and 
pieces  of  string,  when  Ernest  advanced  toward 
a  chair  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room.  A  great 
many  eyes  followed  him.  Something  was  on  the 
chair,  carefully  veiled  with  Blanche's  white 
shawl. 

It  was  a  magnificent  doll,  fully  as  large  as 
Gilbertina,  and  quite  as  handsome.  She  wore 
a  street-dress  of  ruby  velvet,  with  trimmings  of 
white  fur,  which  matched  her  hat  and  muff. 

"  Hilda,  from  Uncle  Gilbert,"  announced  Er- 
nest, in  stentorian  tones. 

Hilda  was  bewildered.  It  was  usual  for  her 
to  receive  more  than  one  doll  on  Christmas-day  ; 
but  not  such  a  doll  as  this.  It  was  like  having 
another  Gilbertina.  Her  uncle  looked  at  her 
with  a  perfectly  happy  face. 

"Isn't  it  lovely?"  broke  forth  Blanche. 
"  There  is  n't  such  another  in  the  whole  city, 
and  I  do  n't  believe  there  ever  was.  Uncle  Gil- 
bert told  me  to  look  for  a  doll,  and  I  saw  this  in 
Blaustein's  window  the  very  day  they  put  it 
there." 

Then  Hilda  remembered  that  she  had  not 
thanked  her  uncle.  She  went  to  him  and  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  laying  her  soft  cheek 
against  his.  Her  voice  was  so  low  that  he 
scarcely  heard  her  words,  but  he  had  no  doubt 
that  she  was  greatly  pleased. 


398  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"  She  's  brought  you  a  note,"  he  said  chuck- 
ling. "A  note,  Hilda — did  n't  you  see  it?" 

Sure  enough,  a  tiny  cream-white  envelope 
was  pinned  into  the  doll's  hand.  It  inclosed  a 
fairy-like  sheet  of  paper,  on  which  was  written 
a  single  line: 

"My  name  is  Susy." 

The  kind  uncle  would  have  been  dismayed 
if  he  had  known  how  much  Hilda  wanted  to 
cry.  He  had  never  forgotten  what  had  occurred 
when  Gilbertina  was  named,  and  had  determined 
that  nobody  should  tease  his  favorite  this  time. 
Of  course,  he  did  not  know  how  much  sorrow 
and  mortification  she  had  felt ;  he  only  knew 
that  she  liked  to  call  her  dolls  Susy,  and  that  he 
wanted  her  to  do  what  she  liked. 

"O,  Uncle  Gilbert!"  cried  Hilda. 

"All  right,  all  right,"  returned  Uncle  Gilbert, 
hastily.  "Hullo,  what's  this?"  as  Ernest  was 
just  dumping  a  package  upon  his  knee. 

Hilda  was  happy  "  on  top,"  as  she  would 
have  expressed  it,  but  under  her  happiness  lay 
an  acfre  which  would  not  cease. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  day  it  lasted, 
making  her  dull  when  Gertie  was  lively,  and 
cross  when  Ernest  tried  to  make  fun.  And  when, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  something  really  unpleas- 
ant happened,  that  sore  pain  had  made  her  so 
irritable  that  she  lost  her  temper  at  once. 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  .399 

Rose  came  into  Mrs.  Craig's  room  with  a 
shawl  thrown  over  her  head  and  shoulders. 
Only  Hilda  and  her  mother  were  there.  The 
little  girl  was  putting  on  a  new  apron  which  she 
wanted  to  wear  before  the  day  passed  by. 

"  Why,  Hilda,  look  what  I  found  on  the 
fence,"  said  Rose.  "It  is  your  book,  for  it  has 
your  name  in  it.  Did  you  leave  it  there?" 

"  My  book  !"  screamed  Hilda,  dashing  at 
her  and  seizing  the  volume.  T-he  cover  was 
soaked  through,  and  the  leaves  were  stained  and 
warped  with  wet.  Without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing she  burst  into  tears,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  she  could  obey  her  mother  and  tell  her 
what  she  was  crying  about. 

"  It  was  buried  in  the  snow,"  explained  Rose. 
"  I  just  happened  to  see  a  corner  sticking  out, 
and  stopped  to  see  what  it  was." 

"O,  that  wicked,  wicked,  wicked  Annie  Tom- 
linson !"  scolded  Hilda,  in  a  voice  broken  by 
sobs.  "I  shan't  ever  associate  with  her  any 
more,  and  Gertie  must  n't  either.  I  '11  be  mad 
at  Gertie  if  she  does,  when  anybody  treats  her 
cousin  like  that.  She  'd  better  not  come  to  this 
house  very  soon.  I  'd  let  her  know  what  I  think 
of  her;  I  just  would!" 

"You  must  not  talk  so,  Hilda."  Mrs. 
Craig's  voice  was  as  gentle  as  the  sweetest 
sound  of  summer,  but  its  firmness  was  unmis- 


400  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

takable.  "  It  makes  me  very  sad  and  ashamed 
to  see  you  in  such  a  passion,  and  hear  you  say 
such  foolish  things." 

Hilda's  tears  broke  forth  afresh. 

"  O,  mamma,  if  you  don't  like  me  I  can't 
bear  it!  I  know  I'm  not  a  bit  good!  I  guess 
I  '11  have  to  go  away  from  everybody,  and  there 
isn't  any  place  to  go  to!"  Then  the  poor, 
silly,  unhappy  little  creature  threw  herself  upon 
the  lounge,  and  covered  her  eyes. 

She  had  never  behaved  so  before.  No 
matter  how  troubled  or  angry  she  might  be, 
she  hastened  to  her  mother's  arms.  And  so 
she  did  to-day,  after  a  few  minutes  had  slipped 
away  in  silence.  A  soft  footfall  sounded  be- 
side Mrs.  Craig's  chair;  a  small  figure  stood  at  her 
elbow,  and  a  sorrowful,  subdued  voice  murmured : 

"  Please,  mamma,  I  want   you  to  kiss  me." 

"  I  'm  truly  sorry,"  whispered  Hilda,  a  mo- 
ment later,  with  her  lips  close  to  her  mother's 
ear ;  and  not  a  word  more  on  the  subject  was 
spoken  that  evening. 

Christmas  was  a  beautiful  day,  but  the  day 
after  Christmas  was  more  beautiful  still.  It 
snowed  again  in  the  night  and  covered  up  the 
tracks  which  had  been  everywhere  made.  The 
morning  was  cloudless  and  brilliantly  blue. 
Every  tree-bole  wore  a  white  stripe  on  one  side, 
and  every  branch  was  softly  cushioned. 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  401 

In  the  afternoon  there  were  nimble,  dark 
figures  rushing  here  and  there  in  the  apple- 
orchard,  and  loud  young  voices  shouting,  unre- 
strained. Every  boy  in  Hawthorn  desired  his 
friends  to  know  how  well  he  had  fared  the  day 
before  ;  and  many  of  them  had  been  journeying 
from  house  to  house  since  breakfast-time.  The 
Craig  children,  however,  had  remained  at  home  ; 
and  their  visitors,  finding  a  good  place  for 
racing  and  snow-balling,  were  in  no  haste  to  de- 
part. A  considerable  company  were  assembled 
before  Barnard  Simeral  arrived.  He  had  been 
waiting  for  Archer  to  come  to  him,  and  was  a 
little  out  of  humor  because  he  had  not  done  so. 

"Look  here,  Craig,"  said  he,  "if  you  want 
to  cut  a  fellow's  acquaintance,  why  do  n't  you 
say  so  ?  I  've  been  looking  for  you  ever  since 
nine  o'clock." 

"And  I  've  been  looking  for  you,"  responded 
Archer,  promptly.  "  I  thought  you  knew 
enough  to  come  here.  We  waited  a  good 
while  before  we  began  our  fort;  but  it's  nearly 
finished  now.  You  '11  be  commander,  won't 
you?" 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  be  chief  of  the  staff," 
returned  Barnard,  his  good  humor  quite  re- 
stored by  the  proffer  of  such  an  honor. 

But  a  difficulty  arose.  Fred  Tomlinson  re- 
fused to  serve  under  the  new  general,  and 

26 


402  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

Ernest  joined  the  rebellion.  Barnard  looked 
furious.  He  glared  at  his  two  opponents,  with- 
out offering  a  reply. 

"  Come,  now,  fellows,"  remonstrated  their 
host,  "  what 's  the  use  of  not  having  a  good 
time  when  you  could  have  it  as  well  as  not? 
You  Ve  been  mad  'most  two  weeks  or  more, 
and  it 's  time  to  make  up." 

"So  I  was  trying  to,"  declared  Barnard, 
magnificently.  "  You  would  n't  have  heard  a 
word  from  me  if  Fred  had  behaved  well.  If 
he  doesn't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
me,  so  much  the  better;  I  shall  let  him  alone." 

"Will  you  shake  hands  if  he  will?"  eagerly 
demanded  Archer? 

"  Certainly,"  responded  Barnard,  with  in- 
creased elegance  of  manner. 

"  Now,  then,  Fred,  you  are  n't  going  to 
hang  back,  I  know."  • 

But  Fred,  instead  of  complying,  took  off  his 
cap>  turned  it  inside  out,  and  replaced  it  upon 
his  head,  the  red  satin  lining  glaring  fiercely 
in  the  strong  light. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  a  fort  full 
of  soldiers,  and  nobody  to  fight  them?"  he  in- 
quired, with  twinkling  eyes.  "  I  'in  Rowdy- 
dowdy,  chief  of  the  Iroquois,  and  Ernest  is  the 
Last  of  the  Mohicans.  We  '11  scalp  the  whole 
lot  of  you,  and  not  half  try." 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM,  403 

Of  course,  Archer  had  arranged  for  an  at- 
tacking party ;  but  Fred's  plan  would  serve 
quite  as  well,  and  had  the  merit  of  being  un- 
expected. A  noble  general,  gallantly  defend- 
ing the  frontier  against  an  active  and  cunning 
Indian  chief,  is  very  different  from  an  insulted 
school-boy,  cherishing  anger  against  one  of  his 
playmates.  While  snow-balls  flew  thick  and 
fast,  resentment  and  unkindness  fled.  The 
boys  forgot  that  they  had  ever  been  enemies, 
except  in  play. 

Blanche  came  into  her  mother's  room, 
dressed  for  a  hurried  trip  to  the  city.  "  I 
won't  be  gone  more  than  two  hours,"  she  said. 

"Could  you  bring  down  some  oysters,  dear? 
Archer  has  the  orchard  full  of  boys ;  suppose 
we  ask  them  to  stay  and  spend  the  evening." 

"  O,  and  mamma,  can't  I  ask  Helen,  too?" 
asked  Hilda,  springing  up  from  the  corner 
where  she  had  been  playing  bagatelle  with 
Gertie.  "  I  haven't  seen  her  since  day  before 
yesterday,  and,  if  she  comes,  there  '11  be  ever  so 
much  fun  for  everybody." 

"Certainly,  Hilda;  you  may  ask  Helen  and 
Annie." 

The  brown  head  suddenly  sank,  and  Hilda 
eyed  her  mother  through  her  drooping  ringlets. 

"  Not  both  of  them;  I  just  said  Helen." 

"But  will   you   not  ask  Annie,  too?     How 


404  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

should  you  feel  if  she  asked  Helen  and  slighted 
you?" 

"  Well,  she  hurt  my  feelings,"  returned 
Hilda,  resentfully.  "  She  spoiled  my  darling 
book.  O,  you  just  ought  to  see  it,  mamma ! 
Rose  dried  it  the  best  she  could;  but  it's  all 
yellow  and  pimpled.  I  '11  go  and  get  it." 

"Never  mind;  it  is  not  necessary  for  you 
to  show  it  to  me.  I  am  sorry,  Hilda,  that  you 
are  still  in  such  a  state  of  feeling.  Annie  was 
careless,  certainly ;  but  our  friends  often  try 
our  patience.  Are  you  certain  that  you  never 
did  anything  as  bad  ?  If  not,  you  have  no 
right  to  complain  of  Annie." 

Hilda's  guilty  heart  took  fright.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  was  afraid  to  meet  her  mother's  eye ; 
but  when  she  did  look  up,  she  saw  no  look  of 
reproach,  only  a  sweet  smile. 

"  Good-bye,  mamma,"  said  Hilda,  in  sub- 
dued tones.  "If  you  don't  care,  we'll  go  for 
Helen  first,  and  take  her  along  to  Annie's." 

Greatly  to  the  disappointment  of  the  cousins, 
they  did  not  find  Helen  at  home.  She  had  gone 
on  an  errand. 

"  Soon  as  she  comes  home,  I  '11  tell  fier  you 
want  her,"  promised  Mrs.  Snider.  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  she  'd  be  at  your  house  as  soon  as 
you.  If  anybody  knows  a  faster  child  than 
that  Helen,  I  'd  like  them  to  point  her  out." 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  405 

Mrs.  Snider  was  right.  Helen  met  the  three 
girls  as  they  passed  out  of  Mr.  Tomlinson's 
gate.  She  came  in  uncommonly  splendid  array, 
being  dressed  in  as  many  Christmas  presents  as 
she  could  conveniently  wear.  Her  fur-trimmed 
cloak  was  very  pretty ;  so  was  her  muff,  and  so 
were  the  delicate  kid-gloves  which  she  had  in- 
sisted upon  exhibiting.  So  much  elegance  was 
unusual- with  Helen,  and  excited  the  respectful 
admiration  of  her  friends. 

"  Hurry  up  and  show  me  your  presents.  I 
can't  wait  a  minute,"  she  asserted.  And  never 
was  there  a  girl  who  made  it  more  delightful 
for  others  to  show  her  their  gifts.  She  thought 
everything  the  most  beautiful  of  its  kind. 

"Did  you  have  a  nice  Christmas?"  chattered 
she.  "  I  did ;  only  I  was  just  suffering  for 
sleep,  because  something  would  n't  let  me  go  to 
sleep  'most  all  night.  I  lay  there,  and  lay 
there,  and  it  never  was  time  to  get  up.  So  at 
last  I  had  a  plan  to  hang  Mrs.  Snider's  stock- 
ing, and  put  her  present  in  it ;  and  then  I  stole 
into  papa's  room,  and  hung  his.  Both  of  them 
were  very  much  surprised.  Papa's  was  a  paper- 
knife,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  point  went 
through  the  toe,  so  he  could  n't  wear  it.  But 
the  funniest  was  Mrs.  Snider.  You  see,  her 
present  was  a  gold  hair-pin,  and  she  did  n't 
know  it  was  there  till  she  put  it  on.  Then 


406  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

you  ought  to  have  heard  her  yell.  She  thought 
it  was  a  pinching-bug,  I  guess." 

Helen  laughed  heartily,  but  stopped  to  in- 
quire : 

"Who's  that  shouting?" 

"All  the  boys  that  are  going  to  stay  to  n 
oyster-supper.  They  're  in  the  orchard,  build- 
ing a  fort." 

"O  girls,  let  us  go  too!"  cried  Helen, 
eagerly. 

They  were  quite  willing ;  but  Gertie  re- 
minded her  that  she  was  not  dressed  for  such 
rough  play. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  worn  these  things,"  said 
Helen,  regretfully.  u  It  might  spoil  them ; 
that 's  a  fact.  Well,  I  do  n't  care.  I  '11  leave 
my  cloak  in  the  house,  and  go  bareheaded  too. 
I  won't  give  up  my  fun  to  please  my  clothes." 

"I  can  lend  you  mittens  and  a  hood,"  said 
Hilda.  "And  here's  Blanche's  old  jacket,  if 
you  can  wear  that.  The  sleeves  are  too  long, 
I  'm  afraid." 

"Turn  them  up;"  and  Gertie  proceeded,  in 
a  business-like  manner,  to  do  it  for  her. 

Helen  presented  rather  an  odd  appearance 
when  she  sallied  forth  ;  but  she  was  comfortable, 
and  that  was  the  main  thing. 

The  boys  looked  at  them  at  first  as  if  they 
thought  it  much  better  for  girls  to  stay  in 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  407 

the  house.  The  battle  between  the  regular 
army  and  the  Indians  had  reached  a  thrilling 
point.  It  was  very  hard  to  keep  the  savages 
out  of  the  fort. 

"  You  can  be  a  squaw  if  you  want  to,"  said 
Fred  to  Helen.  She  clapped  her  hands,  and 
screamed  with  delight. 

"  I  'd  rather  be  that  than  anything  else. 
Shall  I  attack  the  fort  ?" 

"I  should  rather  think  not.  Squaws  don't 
go  on  the  war-path.  No,  you  've  got  to  make 
ammunition  for  us ;  and  you  '11  have  to  work  hard, 
for  it  takes  a  tremendous  lot." 

There  really  must  have  been  a  touch  of  the 
red  man's  nature  in  Fred.  His  hands  were 
growing  sore  from  making  snowballs,  and  he 
seized  the  opportunity  to  put  the  disagreeable 
work  upon  a  girl.  Commander  Simeral  and  his 
army  looked  wistful. 

"Of  course  we'd  be  glad  to  have  you  do 
that  for  us,"  Barnard  said  ;  "but  you  need  n't 
if  you  do  n't  want  to.  It 's  the  worst  part  of 
the  whole  thing." 

"  Well,  it 's  better  than  nothing,"  replied 
Gertie,  cheerfully,  and  she  and  Hilda  and  Annie 
immediately  attached  themselves  to  the  regular 
army.  Helen  was  the  only  girl  who  preferred 
the  wild  and  lawless  life  of  the  savages. 

While   the  warriors  fought,  the  girls  rushed 


408  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

hither  and  thither,  rapidly  rolling  handfuls  of 
snow.  Not  tmfrequently  a  shot  struck  them. 
Annie  shed  a  few  tears  because  a  ball  which 
came  with  force  against  her  head  had  been 
dipped  in  water.  The  general  waved  a  flag  of 
truce,  and  a  parley  was  proclaimed.  The  result 
of  this  was  a  prohibition  against  ice  snowballs. 

"Where's  Helen?"  queried  Fred,  impa- 
tiently, resting  apart  from  a  skirmish,  because 
his  ammunition  had  given  out.  He  chanced  to 
be  standing  beside  some  bushes,  and,  as  he 
spoke,  she  crept  out  from  behind  them.  "  What 
have  you  got  there  ?"  he  asked.  "  What  did  you 
mean  by  going  off  and  leaving  us  without  any 
shot?  If  I  was  some  Indian  chiefs,  I'd  tie  you 
to  a  tree  and  tomahawk  you." 

"  O,  Fred,"  began  Helen,  "  I  've  found  an 
old  doll  back  there.  It  had  some  hair  left,  but 
I  pulled  it  all  off,  so  it  could  be  a  victim  that 
you  've  scalped.  Show  her  to  the  fort  and  tell 
them  you  '11  kill  her  dead  if  they  do  n't  sur- 
render." 

Fred  eyed  the  prisoner  thoughtfully.  She 
was  a  most  unpleasant  object.  Her  baldness 
was  a  glaring  deformity,  and  her  dress,  which 
had  once  been  bright  red,  was  horrible  with  mud 
and  damp.  But  he  recognized  her,  in  spite  of 
her  altered  condition. 

"Why,  Helen  Bland,  that's  Gilbertina!" 


INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  409 

"  O  no  !— Gilbertina  ?     It  is  !" 

Forgetting  all  about  the  play,  Helen  ran 
frantically  toward  the  fort,  which  Ernest  was 
attacking  single-handed.  Hostilities  ceased,  as 
if  at  the  word  of  magic.  An  excited  crowd 
surrounded  Helen  in  an  instant.  Hilda  made 
one  of  the  crowd,  and,  in  the  general  confusion, 
no  one  noticed  that  her  voice  alone  was  silent. 

"  Mamma  must  know  right  away,"  declared 
Archer.  "Mustn't  she,  Hilda?"  He  did  not 
wait  to  hear  his  sister's  answer,  but  went  on  : 
"  She  's  in  the  library  with  Uncle  Gilbert.  I 
saw  them  at  the  window  not  ten  minutes  ago." 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  flag  that  made  us 
free  !"  sang  Ernest,  lustily,  as  a  procession  hast- 
ily formed  into  line.  Helen  carried  the  doll,  and 
all  joined  vigorously  in  the  martial  strains.  The 
approaching  uproar  made  Uncle  Gilbert  lay  aside 
his  book. 

"  The  children  seem  to  be  coining  this  way," 
he  remarked. 

They  came  straight  through  the  front  door 
and  into  the  room,  bringing  with  them  so  much 
snow  that  it  threatened  to  wash  the  pattern  from 
the  carpet  They  all  talked  at  once,  and  the 
noise  gave  Mrs.  Craig  a  headache  which  lasted 
all  day.  By  degrees,  all  was  told  ;  the  miser- 
able Gilbertina  was  exhibited,  and  the  grown 
people  found  it  possible  to  be  heard. 


410  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

"Where  is  Hilda?" 

That  was  her  mother's  first  question  after 
her  eye  had  searched  through  the  company 
without  seeing  her. 

"O,  she  isn't  here!"  cried  Gertie,  with  a 
start.  "  She  was  when  we  came  ;  why,  yes,  she 
was.  I  '11  go  and  find  her." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  "  I  will  go.  If 
you  children  mean  to  stay  in  the  house,  hurry 
and  take  off  your  wraps." 

In  a  short  space  of  time  a  great  deal  had  be- 
come clear  to  Mrs.  Craig.  She  felt  certain  that 
Hilda's  recent  languor  and  irritability  were  in 
some  way  connected  with  Gilbertina's  mysteri- 
ous burial  behind  the  currant-bushes ;  and, 
though  she  did  not  perfectly  understand  what 
had  happened,  she  knew  exactly  how  to  act.  It 
was  the  love  in  her  heart  which  taught  her. 
She  glanced  into  Hilda's  room  in  passing,  but 
did  not  expect  to  see  her  there.  The  child  had 
taken  refuge  on  her  mother's  lounge.  There  she 
lay,  still  in  her  hood  and  overshoes,  her  face  hid- 
den on  her  arm. 

"Hilda,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  "I  thought  you 
had  something  to  tell  me,  and  so  I  came  to 
hear." 

"Yes'm,  I  want  to  tell  you,"  answered  a 
tired  voice.  "Did  you  know  they'd  found  Gil- 
bertina  ?" 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  411 

"  Poor  Gilbertina  !  what  a  strange  place  to 
find  her  in  !  Do  you  know  who  put  her  there, 
my  daughter?" 

"  I  did,  mamma,"  and  Hilda  sat  up  and 
stretched  out  her  arms.  "  I  did  n't  suppose  that 
I  was  ever  going  to  tell  you." 

A  long,  fluttering  sigh  of  relief,  as  she  laid 
her  head  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  told  how 
good  a  thing  confession  was.  Neither  spoke 
for  a  few  minutes ;  both  were  sorry,  and  yet 
both  were  glad.  After  a  little  while,  Mrs.  Craig 
asked  Hilda  a  great  many  questions,  and  learned 
the  whole  story  of  the  trouble  about  Gilbertina, 
which  surprised  her  very  much.  The  talk  which 
followed  made  Hilda  cry,  for  it  showed  her  how 
wrong  she  had  been  from  the  first.  The  falsehood 
that  had  sprung  from  her  lips  so  quickly  that  it 
seemed  impossible  to  stop  it  would  never  have 
been  spoken  if  she  had  not  gone  deliberately 
so  far  from  the  right  path.  Hilda  felt  certain 
that  she  could  never  make  the  same  mistake 
again  ;  and  her  mother  hoped  that  she  would 
not,  for  her  punishment  had  been  long  and 
severe. 

"  Now,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Craig,  when 
their  talk,  sad  though  it  could  not  help  being, 
had  yet  become  wonderfully  sweet,  "  your  little 
friends  must  think  it  strange  that  I  have  kept 
you  from  them  so  long.  Who  will  tell  them 


412  A  TROUBLESOME  NAME. 

the  reason?  Can  you  do  it  yourself,  or  would 
you  rather  I  should  do  it  for  you?" 

Hilda  looked  frightened. 

"Need  they  know  it,  mamma?  O,  why  need 
they  ?  I  have  n't  done  them  any  harm,  and 
they  '11  think  I  'm  so  very  bad." 

"  One  reason  why  they  must  know  is  that 
they  may  be  sure  not  to  suspect  any  one  else. 
But  for  your  own  sake  it  is  better  to  conceal 
nothing.  I  want  your  life  to  be  cleared  from 
every  shadow.  Will  it  not  be  pleasant  to  feel 
that  there  is  nothing  in  your  heart  which  you 
wish  to  hide?" 

"O  yes,"  answered  Hilda.  "I'm  so  tired 
of  getting  frightened  when  people  talk.  But 
what  will  the  girls  say?  And  O,  mamma!  Fred 
is  dreadful  when  he  teases." 

"  But  sometimes  the  only  way  to  do  right  is 
a  hard  way.  What  then?" 

Hilda  gave  her  mother  a  sudden,  quick  hug 
before  she  answered. 

"Please  hurry  and  tell  them,  mamma.  Do 
you  care  if  I  don't  want  to  do  it  myself?  Is 
that  wrong?" 

"  No,"  answered  her  mother,  very  tenderly  ; 
"it  is  right  that  I  should  spare  your  feelings 
when  I  can.  But  I  want  you  to  be  willing  to 
go  down  with  me.  It  is  better  to  face  them  at 
once." 


THE  INDIAN'S  VICTIM.  413 

It  was  a  hard  thing  to  do  ;  but  the  pain  was 
soon  over,  and  such  a  load  was  gone  from  Hil- 
da's heart  that  even  Fred's  teasing  was  no  longer 
unbearable.  Hilda  was  a  happy  little  girl  again, 
and  she  had  learned  to  love  the  truth. 


THE  END. 


A     000129291     1 


